Even the flames seem to have tales to tell,
but in a language to which we are not
privy. Their story is told in light, smell
of smoke, and sound. The fire is so hot
because of the passion with which it speaks.
We enjoy its heat, and are hypnotized
by its dance, but we don’t get what it seeks
to tell us, for its story is comprised
of elements that we can’t understand.
What grief must be felt by those flames as we
see and hear but never perceive the grand
epic that it would share with you and me.
We’ll never comprehend. Perhaps that’s why
after a time, the fire starts to die?
I’m now just over half-way through my second “Heroic Crown” sonnet cycle. This one is taking me much longer than my first cycle. Written for dVerse. Today is Open Link Night (pub opens at 3pm EST)