White Phosphurus memories

It can be as fast as you want it to be
But you have to give it time to catch up
This fire can burn a dozen houses down
Still you would search among the ashes.

What is it that you hope to find among the scattered memories?
Forgiveness, salvation, retribution, perfection?
The wind will scatter all that remains, a churning malestrom
Only to pour gasoline on the flicker.

Surely by now, you understand.
What could you o with all these impartial snippets?
Wipe your hands clean of cinder? Spread it like a disease to the others?
Or perhaps you could build another fire.

One that will burn eternally
One that blisters the flesh and roasts the bone.
Only mud. Only mud.