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Voyage of a Bonfire

by on February 27, 2013

“Each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. ~ Edgar Allan Poe”

Stone against stone
Stone against stone
Lo and behold
A spark! A spark!

Arise now to the voice
A whisper of the silent mind
A glimmer of a leper’s hope
Fainter than the faintest kind


The cackling sound!
Of firewood.
So tall and proud
It once stood

Mumbling and grumbling
Away in shame
No more resembling
From whence it came


– Those wise years it burns away
The wood, it suffers a creaking
Like ghosts of wars and peaceful times
That died while they were shrieking

And the smoke?
Smoggy and dark
Blackened and stark
What of the smoke?

It seems to bid adieu:
“My friends, I must free
The imprisioned soul
Of a lifeless tree”

And as it departs
The air fills with tears
Of thousands tales
Of a thousand years


With moaning sound
The wood endures
Agonizing pain
The flame ensures

It wrinkled, writhed, aged and snapped.
Now ghastly grey, it gently naps.

From cold to hot
And back to cold
A spark! A spark!
Lo and behold.

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