Burn.

It’s a difficult time, and I’m not sure what I have to offer. I’m attempting to understand what I feel and what I can do. I sat down to write as I felt I might be able to contribute in this way. Here’s what I have to offer for now:

Put out the fire, they say.
The fire will burn our houses, they say.
The fire will cost us our money.
The fire is bad.

They don’t notice though, they’ve never noticed,
That their houses are built not with sticks,
Not with sticks, but with bones.
Bones of those they’ve raped,
Bones of those they’ve beaten,
Bones of those they’ve suffocated,
And those bones wish to return to the Earth.

They’ve never noticed,
That their money, their money is just paper they use
To neatly package their lies.
Lies that give them value over us,
Lies that give them power over us,
Lies that shall be exposed,
when we help them realize that paper,
Burns.

So light the fires and let them rage.
Let us fulfill the wishes of those bones that hold up this fragile house.
Let this fire clear the land of what is brittle and empty.
And let us plant the deeply rooted seeds passed to us by our ancestors.