Sparks glide in the cool night.
The icy breeze tries to follow them.
The sky darkens,
the flames get ever brighter,
The glowing orange seems to say, more wood.
It is that wanting that destroys homes,
Leaving only a charred base.
The fire rises,
it sends a wave of heat so hot I almost back away.
I feel stuck,
as if I can’t speak or move.
Away from the fire I would be blind.
Here I am silent.
I am immobile.
I am alone.
The fire grows tired,
No longer dancing,
Spending all of its energy to keep itself alive.
Flames soon fade to illuminated coals.
I douse the fire.
The sky is not the color black,
But the color darkness.
I turn on my headlamp,
And walk to my house,
a single drop of light in front of me.
I long for the moment when the house’s light covers me,
And I am scared no more.
Adam McCarthy lives in Missouri, where he currently attends St. Patrick School. He has been at this school his entire life. One of the greatest teachers ever, Mrs. Meusch, has tasked his class with writing poems for the world to read. He thought it was going to be easy, but found that writing has many, many different properties.