#28 ~ Weak Fire

There was a long time that
blood does not drip by my skin,
there was a long time that
my mouth does not smell as smoke,
there was long time that
a scar is not made in flesh.
The rain softly touches the earth,
making strange draws in the ground;
the fire burns the wood,
that contracts itself each minute,
by consume another, fire starts to get weak,
getting smaller quickly,
then suddently, it fades out.
And this time, sometimes comes
for human beings,
time to stop something,
for a different future goes on.