The World Is Afire

The World Is Afire

The world is afire —

the dust will settle slow,

and we will all transpire

into the dawn’s new glow.

The light will fade,

the sky will fray,

a new day born

from the ash of yesterday.

“Strong blood will save us all,”

says the weak man, pale and small,

his veins thin threads of doubt,

his curse passed down, worn out.

Bad genes make us mean,

too ugly to be seen —

still we breathe, still we dream,

in the fire’s final gleam.