Flames dance ,reflections on the tarp wall,
Up and down they flow, little wisps of orange,
Squiggly worms and tongues,
Lit like pine needles floating down,
The sky remains alit, an orange glow to the horizon,
Doughy and hopeless wanders our lives,
To be dead in a crackle, by a nuclear lamp,
We all... just Moths to the flames,
Singed bodies and doughy dead float down,
The river , no longer for water...
Fire inside is thirst, so intense,
Water cannot quench it,
Decayed souls elsewhere,
They dance to the tune of our deaths,
In this fire pit, Moths ,People all die,
The same end to us all !
Poem by Pc-3( 09/08/2025)
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