Moths aflame

"California is on fire."
We are moths aflame.

Gold coins spill from our tongues
soaking all the sunshine until skies are gray.

A politician's dead eyes watch
orange skies in San Francisco, unfeeling.

The fires stole the mountains, the smoke the horizon
but you, fish eyes, you stole the security of my home.

We are Esaus, who will go down as fools
for selling a birthright for diamonds and doubloons,

villains the moment we renounced nature
to become Midas instead.

My home is a prison that reeks of smoke,
the AC on while we freeze underwater.

How long will we wait, will you wait,
until the ash taints your golden tongue?

I beg you, I warn you
that California is just the tip of a matchstick.

Yes, suffering brings a nation together
but if you cared, don't let us die so ...

there are babies just being born ...
Who are you if you allow them to pay for our mistakes?

Icarus, how much ash will you let us inhale,
homes will you allow to be reduced to char?

How much closer will your wings bring us to the flame?