The Fire

Sitting by the fire, missing you.

It’s better when it’s us two.

There’s something about a fire,

That gives you a desire, to snuggle and cuddle

and forget about any struggle. 

Staring into the hazy flames trying not to blink,

But this aroma gives me room to think.

I need a chocolate, cracker, and mellow,

To share with my handsome fellow.

Wishing I was in the San Juan mountains,

With my love who makes me feel as full as a fountain.

The wood is so patient,

As it waits on the fire to burn and have its turn.

Is that relatable to the human race?

Who run and try to keep up with others pace?

If it could, I bet that piece of wood, 

Wishes it could run from the sparks and ashes;

Or maybe it enjoys the comfort of the fire,

As it burns to ashes. 

Are the mountains calling our name?

To sit in front of the fire that has the flame,

So we can throw in all the blame

That brings us to shame.

Oh, what a suiting place the flame is to the devil, who won’t ever get to be on my spiritual level.

As the fire burns and dies, 

I let it finish burning my eyes.

Thank you flames, wood and ashes,

For giving my mind the passion

To think, absorb, and heal,

Everything that this girl feels.






Photo by Max LaRochelle on Unsplash