The Flame that Wants to Burn

While the young fame around me is fleeting,
I keep my hand within the fire.
For this my branches grow so tall,
But compared to the sun I’m very small.

The flame does not burn me,
But it burned other young,
And they so retreated,
Into cream unneeded.

I do not leave, but enter further,
The warmth spreads in melting chills across my skin. I do not understand why this could be wrong,
If my heart has poured out such a melodious song.

Reaching across the light,
I touch another hand.
We intertwine our fingers, the gentle touch spreads,
But our worried eyes linger, and our hearts fill with dread.

We see all the other fame fleeting,
Into creamy tupperware.
But our fire feels right,
Even if we know the sun has better sight.

May 24, 2013

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