Out Poem by Jan Bloomstein

Bring that ring of fire to bed
Lay your fever down
Cool this grievous wreath of flames
Don your dressing gown

Soon the fog of sleep will come
To douse this burning coal
To rouse the dormant springs within
And lull your anguished soul

Deep is the hole where madness boils
A churning molten lake
Cut the demon from your side
To save the life you'd take

A final cold will settle in
And scorch the frozen ground
The whispers of the ashes strewn
Will barely make a sound