Wasted

There's a fire somewhere, and they rush-

A trail of humans and of smoke

And over the ardor I gush

Under the dismal, dreary cloak.



All the screams of panic and fear

Sing the song of familiar grief

And I allay them, drawing near

Saving prizes from the fierce thief.

Gently, slowly, I dismiss the heat

I heal a burn, I clear the scene

And flowing down I wash some feet

Sweeping and scrubbing gray soil clean.



I come to rest where nothing more

Can brighten this shattering sight

And dirty though, my body sore

Ceasing here brings some respite.



They turn away, in soft murmur

Recalling what they'd just tasted

And who cares in this cold summer

That I was the one just wasted?

Image source: http://goo.gl/uzr37