Death on my watch

I sat in silence and watched the wicker basket burn.
Tormented and isolated I was. 
A man burning in a valley of cascading icicles.

What is the truth here you ask? 
You perish me for your own gain. With your own holy sanctum no longer being mine to inhabit.
Cast me aside into the peril of a world of extraordinary chaos.

My eyes are melting from the burning inferno of friction, seeking the cold of a land protected from fire. 
Take me into your home and strike me bare. 
Lost I am to the softness of your grace.
You must plough me into the soil so that I may grow again once more. 

...

I know that it is I who has prolonged this game.
My aching heart knows only confusion.
To achieve clarity is to be clear in every sense.
For tomorrow will bring a new basket of fruit, with familiarities and differences. 
It is in this resurgence I find my peace.

This new beginning.

Make me whole once again as I challenge all of my inner workings and be the person I believe I am to be.
Strike me down if I may fail and be untrue to myself.
I will learn and grow, weaving like wicker into something that I might make myself proud of. 

A meandering river does what it is must.