Femme En Feu

Tearing through the dandelions she goes, With acrid scent and smokey tendrils, A flame incandescent that none dare oppose; Blackened with soot—devoid of soul, Behind the guile of beauty she hides, Inconsistent and volatile s’cept for her pride, Adoration has taken its toll; If you listen to the crackle and pop of the flames, They speak of an end they sing of her pain, Rhythms and melodies spewing of her heart, Threatening to destroy all she is apart; To blue eyes electric and cool, Smitten is she, now rendered a fool, A victim of her devotion, Subject to her emotion, To a love she dares not deserve; And yet Mother Nature smothers her not, Clinging to a fantom all but forgot, A flame of the hearth, a gentle kind of warmth, Memories of a melody akin to her birth; So rampant she runs, aloof to her ailment, Through daffodils and merry golds martyred in statement, “Death to all pretty things”; Insecurities bubble, fester, and rot, Helpless and content she confronts them not, Succumbing to an image of a better her; To blue eyes electric and cool, Smitten is she, now rendered a fool, A victim of her devotion, Subject to her emotion, To a love she dares not deserve;