a poem called playing with fire

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

na.

sitting down in the basement

with a can of gas,

a box of matches & a

dream---

where you are going

no one is asking

what will come of it

no one will know &

how exciting your life may soon get,

only you are about to find out---

all the whimpering got you nowhere &

all the attempts to free yourself through others

did nothing but

prolong

the

inevitable---

so here we are,

you & i,

the gas can & the match-holder,

striker & strikee---

and there are those that say these things need not be

spoken of

but the world is a cacophony of ironic beauties,

a plethora of chaos & no-win situations,

and a place for all creative minds to

find a way to flourish as best as they can---

so this is where your path has brought you &

though the moment at hand

presents the possibility of fatality,

there is part of you that feels

this was a romance meant for two---strike the match,

kiss the wood &

let the flame drop,

sweet pouring light & heat

round the circle---

whoosh.


Submitted: April 26, 2012

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