Two fires are burning
inside of me
One’s being fueled
the other you will never see.
The embers are dying slowly
but they are getting a tease
Fragile little coals
that can flare up with a breeze.
I’ve met thousands of people
who don’t think I’m the same
They give me glances of disgust
and they fan this flame.
They put on smiling face masks
trying to win their fight
But are hunkered down and beaten back
with every passing night.
Why do good guys always
finish last?
Why do good guys always
get thrown into the past?
We all carry a knife
the point at the heart of it all.
Waiting for a mistake,
their dying flame planning their fall
And every time I hope,
I sm burned again and again.
Author notes
I wrote this poem a looooong time ago. It was originally called "The Killing Blow" but it's been revamped and I think it is a whole heck of a lot better, because it keeps it's main focus throughout, whereas the old version really lost it about halfway through. I've been writing for a long enough time now that I know what should be changed in all of my old poems and I just haven't done it yet. I've been busy. So, just leave me your thoughts and comments. Thanks!
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