Campfire At Night
To gaze into a campfire at night
And see nothing…
For the common man
Is an impossible feat
For one’s primal brain (not unlike a moth)
Is drawn to the flame
And will command no less than
A front row seat
One’s mind can but wonder
When one falls under it’s spell
When one stares into and ponders
It’s magic movements and smell
In the flames can be seen
The genesis of dreams
The maker and creator
Of all things…(so it seems)
A refuge…a respite
A genie’s lamp, an omen maker
For the disparate…the desperate
The giver…and the taker
The sparks become comets
Tracing pathways in the skies
And leave tracery of lace
E’en behind lids of closed eyes
The pops and cracks are the heartbeat
Of this strange carmine creature
That we can only gaze into…
and fashion faces familiar
In the mordant glow
Of flames that but glimmer
Pulling one’s gaze to coals
That grow dimmer
The glaze leaves one’s eyes
As the fire leaves the light
And the spell is broken
with not a word spoken
Dreams and mem’ries
Rise upon ashes so light
And waft away gently
‘Til far out of sight
Ah, The pleasure
Nay!…more like the treasure
Of gazing at leisure
Into a campfire
…at night…
Copyright © David O'Haolin Whalen | Year Posted 2016
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