Why does a fire roar so loudly? Why
does it consume the oxygen in its midst,
begging for attention among indifferent people?
Why does it make logs prance about,
hissing heat in a sweltering treat?
Sparks steam into the breeze, trying
to draw eyes. But the wind is too strong.
Spluttering, gasping for breath. People walk around,
tossing sticks of wood into the forest. Their ignorance
is freezing, letting a chill pervade
the orange, flickering tongues. The flames
falter for a second, hiccuping. Feeling
the hood of neglect beat down on their skin.
Knowing that they will be appreciated
only when they turn dark, a soft black,
a contrast. And a few glimmers of golden,
letting shivering skin, watering eyes
know the treasures
they had missed.
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