The Flame. A poem.

The flame
burns like phosphor,
ignited and soaring by degrees:

The passion,
the anger
(and the shame).

The flame,
super luminal intensity, burns
me up,
turns me
ashen.

(For how long will I shine before the all too brief spark burns low and fades? How long before the darkness encroaches again?)

The flame
wakes me from listlessness,
brings me to back to life,

again
and again.

Light me up, turn me on,
and never

fade away.

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