Torched

We’ve been burned before: Left in the hot seat smoldering and angry. Wondering how we got here and if we’re ever going home. We marvel at downpours their ability to not only quench desire but to drown out the burning as though it never happened. Why can’t they remember what we can’t forget? So I watch the torch pass from one hand to the next the motorcade following one alighting, then more Because to drop it now would be a sin: So we hold it up like a beacon. Let it light the way for the path – the subsequent stumble, charring and burning… Well done!