Poetry

Fire, foremostly

                both furnished and fed from the sound of your voice;

       a melody call

to concentrate.

                Nothing captures the hungry eye

       like a flame does.

We all dream of creating our own fire

                        Completely

Within our control: Sorcerers of the power within slumber, outside space, throughout ideas.

But – we do not make fire

               It bursts in on us.

Robert Neumark Jones