Fire

There is a fire

deep inside my soul.

It boils in my blood and

shoots itself

throughout me.

It longs to consume

everything

until only ashes

are left.

 

There is a fire

in my limbs

that longs to move

to a steady rhythm

of unheard beats.

With it, my blood

boils until I go higher

and nearly crash.

 

This fire

makes me sick

and tired of movement.

Mentally, I want to stop,

but it always keeps me going.

I can’t escape.

I hate it.

It makes me full.

It makes me alive.

It keeps me sane.

I love it.

 

There is a fire

in my heart

that keeps burning

straight on through.

Author's Note

When I was writing this, it was summer and I was taking some online courses. I have a desire inside of me that needs to work. Without work or some sort of activity, I find myself dull and idle. I hate to be dull and idle. Writing this, I felt so fired up. The feeling was intense. It was a fire raging in my blood. Now that I think about it, this poem could almost be lyrics for a song. I only thought of that just now. Interesting.
Later on I will be posting another poem: "The Moving Masochist." This one was written right after "Fire" and pretty much goes hand-in-hand with it.

I hope you enjoy!

Reviews

[Enid Blake]

I think a lot of people can identify with that feeling. Of course as with most fires, one must be careful not to burn out. All work and no play... (says she who burns the candle at both ends!)