Z) Sirens

When the sirens scream,
Is the fire alight?
I move closer to striking the match
and warm the night.

When I feel the danger
of life grow near,
Must I hide within myself
or burn the brush and face my fear?

The illusion of security,
Like the tended flower,
Or the terrible hate
and lust for vengeful power.

There is no wall,
There is no martyr's mask,
No healing wine that warms the heart and sparkles in the crystal
cask.

Nothing can hide the grotesque face
That sits within the ruptured soul,
Nothing can regain the faith
That keeps the victim in control.