Vanities

All fires die

down

from embers to ash

retardant and uniform.

Our face and fingertips

warmed when close

once upon those times of

burning.

This glow, you know

attracts more than

the dark and cold that surround

our rituals.

Smoke follows beauty,

we all know 

while choking

back tears

it escapes and rises above

the flames.

The words were carried,

the intentions swallowed,

the time was wasted

watching and waiting

while warm

sparks blink.

Stoking and smoldering

somewhere inside

the pit 

we all knew these bridges

suspend more than belief. 

Painting by Nikolai Astrup, c. 1909 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Flame thrower

The children were called Embers
The parents roaring Flames
and in old age they All
became Coals.

Consumers only content
and subdued when all fuel
has been spent, lying low
until rekindled
into reaction
by a taunting breeze.

Always reaching
Up
for more
while leeching all the colors
and converting it into
expendable heat.

Dancing on destruction,
memories bridging by a spark,
the arc spans its dire
detonation
as quick as a wick
lying
next to another already lit.

Together the family,
kindling flames,
carry their torches
and blames. Sterno
for their kindred Inferno.




Image flame match strike, full color spectrum [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.