The Artful Arsonists.

Let's build a fire!
Let's burn our fears away!
Set our worries to the wind!
Bid them farewell, my friends!
Hold safely to one another!
And never see them again!

Hold onto your dreams,
they make quick work of fading.
Silence your needs,
your desires are abating.
Dress in short sleeves,
the sun is awakening.
We'll conquer fear,
our minds are worth saving.

Time is the immortal,
constant but unstable;
and like any Greek god:
it is unwilling although able.
With its own regard held closely,
as if in a game of Hearts,
Time's Eye rolls loosely
in its socket counter-part.
There's an art to survival.
There's a will to do what works;
and a chance to do more than that-
in spite of value or worth.
There's a dance to adhere to.
There are signs to follow;
but no reason to do so-
other than to keep peace.

Burn away the doubt,
let it fall to the sand
so the tide carries it out.
Burn away denial,
suffer from it no longer,
keep close to your family:
your parents, sons, and daughters.

Burn away the youth,
that blameful beast without tact;
let it find its own way home
without ever looking back.
And if the tide does not come,
then the lines will still show
from the fires we've built,
from the stitches we've sewn.

Bandaged wounds still bring pain,
but the dichotomy between bare
and covered is the line between
night and day; death and discomfort.
Pray the moon still allows the tide to rise,
for the sake of our growth, and for the sake of our lives.