Child of Fire Wrought as winters bright embers Still glowed - TopicsExpress



          

Child of Fire Wrought as winters bright embers Still glowed warm in the fireplace, Refined in a hot red-clay forge, Hammered flat on the harsh anvil That defined my teenage years And tempered quick by tragedy, I became hard, cold, with an edge, But I still know what it is to burn. I am known to boil over, bubbling Like so much gurgling pastel mud In perking Yellowstone paint pots. I have shot steam-spray rockets Skyward, a brash young geyser, With irregular, happy abandon. A simmering, stewing sot, I am, Quick to erupt, absolutely deadly. I have spat napalm, shat fire alive, Pissed blazing kerosene streams Upward in raging incendiary arcs Onto unsuspecting heaps of tinder, And I have felt scalding salt-tears Scorch my sooty, puffy cheeks As I wept over beloved bridges I had wantonly sacked and ashed. I can be an inferno incarnate, With tin dipper melting in hand, Trying and failing ever to fetch Just one healing, quenching sip From the waiting, loving pool Which longs to come to my aid As my soul pops and crackles: Son of flames, I am consumed.
Posted on: Fri, 29 Nov 2013 04:25:46 +0000

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