My fighter, my blessed, my chosen

Your kindle spirit has broken

And when I ask for flames to rise

Clamber limbs are trying to stoke it.

My Scrapper, my blessed, my bishop

Ask me not what’s left to give up;

I’ve much more to do, through you,

an Acolyte to the life goddess Aerssap

I smell the pepper spray, batons and gas

From here; and near

Blood drawn windows and hair torn brick

I smell the fear, so clear,

That their flame wasn’t bright enough.

It’s ridiculous.

The conflicting flames are beautiful to watch. They keep me sated, happy, alive.

My champion, my Scrapper, my fire

Through the smoke and the bombs you’ll rise higher

Heal At my fingertip, and stand.

Your kindle heart joins my pyre.