No matter how I rant and rave,
this World has gone insane.
Full of hate and racial abuse.
Not how I was raised.
Not how I will treat others,
who aren't like me.

Must I be the way I am?
Can I change my being?
Must I walk this road alone?
Going through life, not seeing?

The fire has died now,
burning all the logs
into embers.
Crackling of wood,
cooling,
echoes through the room,
while noises of the
dishwasher, cycling,
increasing intensity,
drowning out my memories.

A single, lonely Moth
flits to the flickering flame
Gone