It burns. It burns.
It eats everything in its path, but it doesn't digest it.
It leaves behind a trail of grey powder.
What we were... its nothing but powder.
It burns away the memories, I see them go black before they crumble into grey.
The smoke rises while bits and pieces blow in the wind.
It flickers brighter and brighter, but it never goes out. It swirls blue and it swirls red.
But why? Why does it swirl so? Our memories were never colorful, they weren't even in black and white.
But a colorless flame, could never be a beautiful destroyer, could it? What would a flame be without its medals?
The heat from it all blurs my vision and makes my eyes water, but I must embrace it.
It's the beginning of the end and soon even the beginning will end.
We drank water and ate fire, but what do we have to show but a couple burns?
It burns. It burns.
The flame burns.
I hope this poem brought the heat, now please vote or comment. ;)