Flame Poem by Andrew Rose

I paint these pictures with a heart that's always lost,
in the wings of dantes prayer,
in between the coals,
souls smouldering dry,
there they dance between the naked sculputures of flame,
safe and warm,
loves a game.
In my dark cell of lifes abandon,
wood was never green,
it's end soars in blue and red,
in it's core orange rests,
offset by darkness,
you wouldn't see it yet.
An evening ritual of rareish name,
this is how one trully appreciates a day once made.