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There is an idle, wandering flame
Which has become trapped inside my stove.
Twisting, it taps the glass,
Begging to be set free.
But I see its truth
How it devours the log on which it dances;
How greedily it consumes;
How seductively it shimmers.
And I know the flame must die.
Starved from fuel and air
Confined in its iron cage.
Dancing ever more frantic
Until it succumbs to ash and smoke.
And a pale scorch
On the glass is all that marks
Its brief and brilliant life.