What's to come

A poem about surrendering to a dangerous temptation—knowing it will destroy you, yet craving it all the same.

I walk the Line.

I play with Fire.

 

You whisper:

eyes closed,

mouth in a grin

bliss on your face.

 

Aren’t you afraid

of what’s to come?

the voice in your head

hissing, warning

what will come?

you shut it out

 

Lifting your eyes,

you meet the fire,

its sparkling lights,

feel the warmth of its flame

tempting, beckoning,

come hither.

 

Soothing,

craving your touch

it calls you by name.

 

You obey.

 

The first touch is gentle

soft and teasing,

deceptive.

 

Your eyes glisten: 

pleasure, desire,

dream, longing,

anticipation, illusion.

 

“Yes” you whisper,

“what’s to come”.

 

Then it devours.

Leaves ash and shadow.

 

Still,

throat dry, life drained

your escape,

Your truth, your curse.

 

Eyes glazed.

you lie there,

begging for more.

Author's Note

I'd love to hear what this poem evokes for you and how you interpret the “fire.” Any feedback on tone, pacing, and overall impact is welcome.