Pyromaniacal - 7/22/09

First and foremost,
I'm no pyromaniac.
However, I've been playing with fire.
How hot it is...
Mm, mm, mm.
Such a curvaceous flame
Brilliant and warm,
It's heat both deterrent and inviting.
This was no ordinary fire though,
The ashes scattered about it
Were clear indication of it being fed
And the core was flashing, nearly pulsating,
As though it was constantly growing.
Such calescence should worry a man...
But the allure was just too much,
Playing on my doubts
By leading me to believe it's warmth was worth the risk of burns.
I could not deny this possibility...
I had never fed a fire before, I had only been burned.
And so I devoted myself,
Finding anything I could to feed this fire.
Be it sage, time, roses, or whatever I could muster
The fire consumed it all,
But without emitting any heat.
It was effulgent yes,
But it didn't nothing to satisfy me
Which caused me to grow languid...
The symbiotic relationship had grown parasitic.
Whenever I thought of walking away,
The flame would flash blue,
A spectacle that left me in pure flabbergast.
The conflagration struck chords in me,
Featuring a bluish-purple tinge, appealing to aesthetic senses of my brain
And such heat that could only be matched by the fervor I have for life.
But, this became the typical rigamarole.
Every time I was fed up with the situation,
The flame showed another side.
And so, now, I am at an impasse.
This flame, this shining beacon of nature's beauty
Uses me because I am convenient,
And am willing to do what most men would not,
Yet I hold out hope that this flame will simply reciprocate.
If I stay, I'll never have the warmth I seek;
If I leave, I may not find a flame as spectacular.
Until I issue a quietus,
I guess I'm just playing with fire.
...Guess I'm a bit of a Pyro after all.

-A. Lewis