A Poem a Day (707): Flames

 
Flames
 
In air,
as in water,
unwritten. Unsaid.
Fire curls the edges of wrath,
flames without a phoenix.
 
Turrets scurry in mist,
a drawbridge with no end.
This path divides and redivides
into a soar of mountains.
And then it’s gone.
 
It’s not a game. It never was.
Aces high, delusion low.
Fire breathes a lion’s soul.
 
Seeds of a dandelion travel far,
blown on languorous breeze,
for there is movement.

Otherwise, all is stasis,
all is illusion. Just coal.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 2, 2025