I wrote a new poem in the back of French class the other day (for some reason I always get ideas for poems in the back of French class)
The Fire
I am the spark,
Bright light in the dark.
He is the petrol,
Who's mere presence is danger.
She is the wood,
A great big pile.
Together we make
The hugest of fires.
The words burn my body
Each sound is a blister,
But I've used all my tears
On my younger sister,
So I can do nothing
To dampen the flames.
I can only retreat
And hope that it rains.
