The Web Poetry Corner
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The Web Poetry Corner



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Poets and pyromaniacs'
eyes in red light mesmerized
see blossoms shimmer, shattering gold
as petals leap to frigid doom,
hurtling, reaching, clutching, grasping,
kamikaze, flaring out
to heat the heavens and to kiss
the stars with sparks and scathing spears.
A deadly, dancing, weaving flower
hypnotic sparks off anchored log
fly for frigid freedom; air,
where furious petals finally fade.
Between a firelog's gravity
and frozen air's finality,
tension burns with blossoming heat
sparkling, it lusts for nothing more
than freedom from a fast bound root,
ignorant that, uprooted, flowers
wither in the empty air.
In spite, resentful, bitterly,
burnt blossom blackens wooden roots --
destroy the anchor chain and fly
and air will lift you in your glow.
Instead, the wooden roots grow frail
and crumble in a spray of sparks.
The cringing carcass hisses, snaps,
collapses into clustered coal.
The blossom crumples, crackles death;
a torchlight struggle all for this:
that coal could coldly contemplate
if freedom from a smouldering wood
was worth destroying wood and fire.