This poem is one of the February Writing Challenge entries chosen to be a feature.
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Breathe in,
breathe out.
I need so few things,
yet I still burn out.
The first gives life to all,
oxygen,
two little atoms.
The second is a spark,
like all sparks,
this will go out quickly,
so I need one more thing,
fuel,
something to keep me burning long,
and hard.
Soon,
I will get ignored,
and die,
but my remains stay about,
ashes,
cinders,
the black marks on the side of the logs.
I might be lit again,
then it will start over.
Breathe in,
breathe out.