We are learning to make fire...

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.

The End

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