Oh look! A fire.

For the ones in a thatched roof, a fire is an uninvited guest

For the ones in glasshouses, it has its sweet spot

For the hungry, it is in their stomachs, processing the reality

For a lot, it can light a luxury that aides death

For some, it brings a cheer

For some others, it helps them earn their daily bread

For a few are doused with it to silence their cries

For the hopefuls, nevertheless, it is a symbol, often a guiding light

When it brings upon a tragedy, the world moves on…

But again, who cares as long as the glass houses are warm?