|
| |
Will-o’-the-wisp Reignites the Flame
The Will-o’-the-Wisp never stays still.
It ignites a dare,
tempting the watchers to chase its glow.
Its tongues of flame don’t just flicker—
they sear deep into the minds of those,
who dare to gaze and stare.
It erupts with flickering tongues of fire,
leaping ahead like runaway sparks,
igniting the brittle leaves of thought.
Spreading fast, wild, and relentless—
through piles of littered drafts
in the under-storey of detritus,
that explode in balls of flame,
driven by strong gusts of wind,
the blaze itself creates.
Questions spit and crackle in the tinder.
Curiosities stoke the flames higher.
Fanning them into a roaring furnace of creation.
Acrid smoke writhes and coils upwards,
hanging heavy in the air like
incense in an abandoned temple.
A sacred haze that sparks
the raw, involuntary urge,
to write inspired lines.
Gray-white ash drifts down in soft spiral curls,
tracing ghostly-lines, across the waiting page—
crumbling into fine particles, like cigarette ash.
The rage of fire becomes subdued,
but its heart still murmurs with
crackles of thoughts and ideas
in the embers glowing red with untamed intent.
The Will-o’-the-Wisp has kindled the flame.
Its mischief is done — Its glow has subsided.
A new work rises in the smoke from the ashes.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
|
|