Things that burn seem to be falling
Fire the feeling that life passes by
The crack of thunder is calling
And ephemeral lights fill the sky
The smoke gets in your eye
And you inhale deep to fill your lungs
Each flame the trail; something can die.
Rain tears on a window because it has not clung.
The burn burns without burning. Flames are an idea.
Flames feed, sparks rise: what passes passes yellow
My head becomes so light. My mind feels so clear.
A swan song of string wails from a dying cello.
O how beautiful that sight I was to behold
The crackling symphony that did unfold
Everything decomposed as if from a mold
But despite the heat such a bladed cold.
No greater story of man could be told
The fire burnt like a faerie’s light
Sparks rise in neon fireflies
Spirits clearing space from color to bits
What light reveals, the darkness hides
And now the stars burn bright
The heat burns me deep inside
My passions draw me to which I subscribe
Like a moth, I cannot resist the flame
But eventually it’s gaze must wane
Whatever happens the flame claims
Memory remembers its own ahed’d lane
I am drunk on this November night
Everything but time is static
My spine shivers as I behold this fiery sight
The system which is automatic
Fires in the day forget the sun
Night lights what day wont see
Sound of the fire shoots like a gun
Sparks of magic surround me
Each log wands an energy
Magical but for its science
The fire burns wild like an orgy
The wood and flame forge an alliance
Wizarded sticks more than the detritus of trees
Layers are ages that matter only when burnt
The fire suppresses a defiant breeze
And I have forgot everything I ever learnt
My brain is growing
The pain of a swollen skull
The sin of knowing
Is the result of being dull
The heat lubricates blood; oxygen of thoughts
Libations the same, light of sirens streams
So the fire fades and the only light is lost
And the flame is left only to warms our dreams
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