THE LIVING BREATH OF FIRE®
While relaxing by last night’s fire, her flames filled me with poetic desire.
My below poetic satire offers my alarming, unexpected observations.
Carefully composed especially for you by Donna J. Fennel.
Quilled on this 3rd day of December, 2004 ~ Macabre to explore.
More demise added for your surprise on May 14, 2006. BEWARE ...
My diminutive, flickering candle flame ~
Lends comfort and cheer to a chilly night.
While a fire aglow upon my rosy hearth ~
With her welcomed warmth, wanly invites.
As she spryly laps 'round the Yule logs ~
Harbored safely behind wrought iron grates.
'Midst her blazing amber-sienna splendor ~
Unwearied and ubiquitously she waits.
Savor the sensuous warmth she brings ~
But be warned because fire is a living thing.
As her spicy breath engulfs home hearth ~
While we partake in merriment and mirth.
And once freed, she feeds with gluttony ~
She is misery, so uncaring and unheeding.
In her wanton fury, wickedly growing ~
Vixen viciously and voraciously feeding.
Her winds are born of intense convection ~
Defying the nighttime’s frost-laden air
Declaring in a roar of demon wings ~
"I AM a breathing and living thing.”
Varied, convoluted shapes and shades ~
Prance piercingly within her eerie glow.
Here, there, everywhere a burst of light ~
As another log on her hefty breast goes.
Twisting, turning, churning and burning ~
While her vampish vortex grows and feeds.
Then, as sparks fall on abandoned leaves ~
Ah, she yearns evermore to feed and breed.
Sinister, steaming sap hisses, hear her sing ~
”I AM the empire of fire, a living thing."
With flaming tongues of dragon breath ~
She consumes all that crosses her path.
Alas, none ever survive her fatal grasp ~
In a storm of pungent, acrid devastation
Eventually she flickers to an ember and dies ~
Yet nature maintains a balanced operation.
When we settle down for a cozy winter’s eve ~
Gathering Yule logs with which the fire to feed.
While decking the halls with berries and boughs ~
Remember, the wanton fire yearns to be aroused.
As I continue to gaze into the flickering flame ~
Her haunting hiss seems to whisper my name.
Ah, visions of Christmas spirits mirror her eyes ~
Tormented souls releasing baleful banshee cries.
I now move forward to douse her frenzied flame ~
While I stare hypnotically into her piercing eyes.
Her power extinguished by one wave of my hand ~
As I shroud her gleaming body with a pail of sand.
I venture towards bed, but before leaving room ~
I gaze upon my funerary fireplace one last time.
While my clock in diningroom is letting me know ~
It is now eleven, by its resounding Windsor chimes.
Alas, it never ceases to amaze my mortal mind ~
That despite our alchemy and science wonderkind.
Tho we possess the technology and fervent desire ~
We have ne’er been able to control mistress fire.
Her mega-watt smile spreads across the fireplace ~
As she grins mockingly upon those who gave her life.
Mythology reveals her as goddess with beautiful face ~
Yet in the Holy Bible, she is depicted as Satan’s wife.
O, such comfort, ambience and pleasure she brings ~
As her eyes flicker flirtatiously and her gaze clings.
Lest we not forget, her kiss holds the breath of death ~
She consorts with Sire Death. Fire IS a living thing.
Another "Poe-ish" creation by Donna J. Fennel.
©2004-06 Donna J. Fennel, Owner of Donnadreamland. All rights reserved®.
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Author: Donna J. Fennel | Copyright ©2003-06 donnadreamland | All rights reserved.
Revised: May 14,2006.
