Fire.
At first it warms you,
And delightfully, you welcome it.
You allow it to warm your hands,
Redden your cheeks,
And place warmth in your heart.
Fire.
Of its dangers we know,
But those times we feel cold,
When we feel we need it themost,
We ignite the flames,
And ignore the smoke.
Fire.
Sometimes good,
Sometimes bad,
But no matter the intention,
Something must be burned,
To receive the warmth it has.
Fire.
Sometimes its heat is not desired,
Sometimes we get burned,
A harsh pain,
An unpleasant scar,
A painful reminder.
Fire.
It cannot burn forever,
Eventually, its flames will die,
And I find myself to be even colder,
Than previous to its company.
Fire.
If I had the choice,
If it were up to me,
I wish I’d never felt its warmth,
So I wouldn’t have to feel,
The pain from when it leaves.
Fire.
The kind I speak of,
Burns within the heart,
Or so metaphorically,
That fire is love,
The flame that hurts the most,
The one you take personally,
Fire.
