The Hurt and The Healing: A Poem

Thank you all for those ideas. God, I don't know what I'd do without you guys giving those motivating comments. This poem came to me when I was listening to a conversation between two people putting wood on a campfire. If I do say so myself, this piece is just as deep, but a little bit more hopeful. Tell me what you think!

The Hurt and The Healing

How's the fire going?

They ask.

Is it burning?

Is it blazing?

Is it filling the air

with torn-up pieces of paper,

drifting on the icy wind?

No, you answer.

The wood is still

too young, too vulnerable.

Chopped to bits

just last summer,

without time to dry,

to breath.

So much smoke,

so little flame.

Too much air to fill,

with no substance

in which to feel.

Come back soon,

you say.

Wait a little.

Think a little.

Watch the wood

dry in the sun,

catch its breath.

Give it some time,

you say.

And soon one shall see

the flame leap eagerly

onto the log's

hardened skin.

Witness its acceptance,

its rebirth.

Give life time,

give it hope.

Hope,

they repeat.

And shake their heads

at your ignorance,

your stupidity.

They get in their car

and drive away.

Leaving you

smiling and nodding,

as you wait

for the wood

to burn.

Peace, love, and happiness

-Becca