Marching Flames Poem by Zosimos Walczak

Surrounded by the high rises I walk surrounded by my sisters and brothers.
Issues in mind, I heed to the labyrinth formed by the authorities.
Prodding my agenda along with my weary feet I mark a fire in my path
Instinctual fear and curiosity hasten through my brain and senses.

Our walk nears its end by Persham Square cloistered by the high rises; I walk on.
The fire I had walked by has undergone its punishment by the authorities,
The enduring smoke fades into the atmosphere, forever a memory.
Walk along the path I go, silently yearning for more fires to walk the walk.

More authorities scampering from their organized labyrinth look on as I walk.
Around a corner another fire, this time smaller but still alive.
The sound of sirens echo from the high rises as they grow louder
Two Fire trucks with authorities come to carry off the fire,

Before their grasping hands reach out to decimate the flames;
I grab a nearby newspaper and fold it like a baton,
Into the fire I place it. It leaps onto the paper; I walk away. Tall.
Head up high I look to the high rises and point my lit baton.

This flame will march on for my daughter's right to bear the fire.
S I. G