Poetry Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

Books blazed on the shelf
burst into flames
(so many flammable words/
such an explosion of knowledge) .

Plunged my mind in,
until I was nothing but the heat
nothing but the fragile fire,
and words were burns on my flesh.

Phrases appeared phoenix-like
in the smoke of sentences,
flitting my brain
like moths with scorched wings.
I translated the ashes.