SPARK OF AN ARGUMENT

The sparks that light an argument

are often very small,

just like the start of fires,

where one small candle flame

devours a whole, a house, a wood,

and out of all proportion to the cause

that tiny spark of conflict,

like fire with anger fed, with wind, 

with air that unseen element,

and when its done and over,

we regret we ever even mentioned it, 

or set it with a light that

picked out deeper hidden thoughts, 

like spread of mould and blight,

and there it lies for ever more, 

engraved and etched, a blackened char, 

of dissonance and malcontent, 

of scarred beauty, fallen pride, 

and lost is all we coveted and held

so close inside, and just because

we started out with so small a gesture,

when studied, understood, it stands

a true conjecture, and relent

its ever happening, apologise, made small,

but out there in the woods, the plants

beneath the sod, they are not dead, 

they grow again as if forgiven by a god.