The Arsonist

He flicks the zippo open, and lights the paper pile

Adrenaline rushes through his veins, he watches for a while

 

And as the fire’s spreading, excitement in his eyes

Seeing nothing through the smoke, but he can hear their cries

 

Bubbling paint and the crackling wood, he loves the funeral pyre

The smoke his aphrodisiac, his true love is the fire

 

The flames are reaching to the sky, and forcing it to glow

Fire engines on the scene, as he enjoys the show

 

The fire burns out of control, a blistering heat that warms his soul

Proud of what he has achieved, and glad he reached his goal

 

Souls for the reaper but not in vain, as some were saved to live again

Those that survived will not be the same, reliving the nightmare feeling the pain

 

The brave that died will not be forgot, for they are the hero’s that gave up the lot

D.J.Dodsworth