Firepit
By ice rivers
- 454 reads
Maybe it's the weather
But I just can't get it together
I'm weak and weary
The sky is dark and dreary.
Ain't nuthin' I'm needin'
Cept the voracious readin
Which muddles up my head
And keeps me on the bed
A languishing feller
In a pit called a cellar.
So I read about this fire
And I've got to be a liar
Just one fib, just one contradiction
to make this poem a work of fiction
The fire took fifteen minutes
there were a thousand people in it
Somehow five hundred escaped
And another five hundred were vaped
In the frenzy a woman emerged from the depths with her hair ablaze
Of course, she was screaming "fire" but it was already too late anyways.
The only hope was the revolving doors
From the smoke that poisons and the flame that roars
Blind and burning we tore each other apart
And left flesh and bone to char in the dark
The revolving door jammed, two hundred inside
Trampled and broken, in the space where they died
The fighters outside were unable to pry
The fractured inside were starting to fry
The fighters outside screamed in frustration
The splintered inside choked in suffocation
And became ashen is spontaneous cremation.
Cowboy Star Buck Jones
Climbed through the roof all alone
And although he was saved
The poison he braved
And went back in
again and again
Saving others till he died
And right there is where I lied
And into fiction I dove
On the night of the fire
At the Cocoanut Grove
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