The Challenge: Write a poem that contains the line "we are learning to make fire."
I did it in the dead of the night.
Now the cold is starting to bite.
I can hear voices in my head.
Mocking me, to the point of dread.
They scold me on what I've done.
What I just did with that large gun.
Flashbacks of the blood,
fill my mind like a flash flood.
Oh their blood, so sweet,
is evidence of my deceit.
When the police see it,
they will order that I submit.
But I will not be found,
until hell drags me down.
"We are learning to make fire,"
my teacher had said that one hour.
She had showed us the how,
but I have never tried until now.
I pick up two sticks,
and rub them until they click.
A spark flies,
and then flames arise.
I am now being burned,
but I am not concerned.
A life has passed.
Death has taken me at last.