Wildfire
There's nothing I can do
Destroying, raging, it grew
An unlucky number I drew
Away from home I flew
My stomach felt like glue
The people left were few
Those behind it slew
It came out of the blue
We didn't have a clue
How fast it did brew
It died fast too
What's left, and who?
Out with the old, in with the new.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.