My Mother, My Father, My Sister, Set-aflame.
As crumpled sheets of paper set-aflame,
by my anger,
anger contained in a candle box.
What will become of them whom I loved?
The scented wax melts which once was affection.
Do they burn the box which once contained only love?
Their ashes turn to liquid to resemble my tears.
I doubt I could put this anger out even if I tried.
It feeds my thoughts, but will its fire consume me,
as it has them?
It seems their memories, like the paper, will never go away.
The black memories evil and cruel, set aflame.
My anger dances around their images
as they have danced beyond the reach of forgiveness
as they are consumed.
Finally, I am forced to extinguish the fire I created
as its heat burns everything within its reach.
The candle is ruined.
still… I could not destroy them.
Their charred and even blacker remains lie encased in wax.
untouched.
What little love I have left
has protected them from my fury
at the expense of my own
and the fear of losing them.
Or maybe the sacrifice of losing more of myself
for the satisfaction of seeing them burn.
If only they could feel the pain of that fire.
To know the pain they have gladly caused me.
WoPoLi 
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