Bonfire

Ripeness
Roaring
Raging
Rot

In
Idyllic
Idolized
Incineration

The red storm becomes the cinders in a night

Old woman I call grandmother turns to me, tells me

“Destruction happens fast. What rejects nurture doesn’t need it.”

And every evil I have ever known
Transforms into a finger snap

“Just like that.” she says.

To grow an oak takes centuries.

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