Surely, each renewed, then ebbing

rich and rhythmic shadow fallen

cross the golden, soft enduring

ringing glow from ember come,

fell to gently rest, alighting

quietly in place to offer

proud, precise, syllabic cadence

calling song from steady hum.


Faithfully, the ancient sybil takes a voice and lightly roars,

Hark! The honeyed voice abounding, clearly I discern is yours.

Yes! The ringing bell and singing belle are one, the very same.

Lo, the esoteric whispered lyric is your very name.


Each a note, yet all a chorus,

twilight razing, quite inviting,

how harmonious my passion,

this each burning ember keeps.

Here, the cooling, night engulfing,

quiet-making, calm and pulsing,

all a-smolder bedded embers,

surely here the fire sleeps.


And if it sleeps, the fire dreams,

oh hell, I always knew.

Fire dreams its fiery dreams and

burns just like I do.

And yearns just like I do

to turn and shake and wake anew,

for when I rise, before my eyes

my fiery dream come true.

And I’ll be damned if fire is made of

anything but you.


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