Vestal Heart

 

The flame that burns my fingers

burns nothing which is not already ash:

skin of ash, 

bone of ash.

The body is fuel for fire.

This flame burns no more than a glare in my eyes.

 

Sight creates fuel for wishes. 

Wishes smolder within the fire pit of the chest 

in those who dare to let them.

 

But a heart of flame reveals a soul of ash; 

refuse of a lifetime's passions 

snuffed too soon. 

 

Such a spirit is subject to weather,  

to be scattered by storm and 

absorbed by snow:  

a life like fire in the wind.

 

 

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Author's Note

Originally written in 2001
Revisions in 2007

Reviews

[cevance]

Added on August 14, 2008--I'm surprised that no one has mentioned what a very intriguing, and wonderful poem this is. It's a world of its own--and it's lovely.