My Home Is Burning (I wish it were fiction)

Fire always comes in twos.

It burns

So bright

Then fades

Out of sight,

Out of mind, old news.

The world burned once the whole land through.

We fought

And died

And stopped

And sighed.

Then we picked up our torch and lit it anew.

My Golden home burned once in ninety-two.

Some fought,

Some died,

Some stopped,

All cried,

And now my home burns again; the fire grew.

The fire once swept America to turn father on son.

We killed

Our own.

We stopped?

And moaned.

Centuries later, we’re still there. The burning’s not done.

The burning isn’t done.

We don’t learn the first time,

But we rise

From the ash

And clean

The trash,

But we hold onto it, the filth, the grime.

Not even a Phoenix lives forever.

Someday we’ll burn to the ground

But stay

In the dirt

Betrayed

And hurt,

And then fade away without a sound.

Never to rise again.

But.

We are Phoenix.

We were born not to die,

But to Fly.