Fire Poem by Tony Mushrow

Fire.


I sit and stare at my fire in the hearth.
This harnessed beautiful element of destruction.
A divine gift from the supreme being.
Like dragons breath it warms the room.
Dancing flames stroke and caress the hot coals.
Fiery flapping birds of red, deeper red, orange, white.
I sit with the dog and we stare together.
Human and canine, our orange eyes bewitched.
Mesmerised by the hypnotic flame.
It seems to burn into my sapien soul.
An awakening of my prehistoric lineage.
The crackle, hiss and pop as the logs sing out.
The fire has a gypsy spirit of its very own.
The fire not only warms but also softly lights the room.
Chasing the darkness to cower into the corners.
Expelled now to under tables and behind doorways.
The flickering firelight dances on the walls.
Throwing lines, circles and ghostly shapes.
Growing and shrinking at the will of the fire.
I am hunter, gatherer, protector and fire maker.
I sit and stare at my fire in the hearth.