Light a fire upon the raging fire? 
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain: 
Why add more fire to fire? 

Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge 
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:

(For the twig is now bent over, 
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles, 
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)

That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials: 
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,

Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.

(c) nyonglema