My Flame

You should know,

I’ve burned so many with my flame.

Some just poked at it and walked away.

Maybe their finger blistered but it didn’t hurt for long.

Those who tried to straighten me, yelped and

found themselves with necks burned.

Some have one degree burns.

Healed with the icepack of my shoulder.

Others reached the second level –

Bleeding from the bite of my tongue.

Many times, they ignored my passions and

paid no attention as I shined brighter,

Before I could get s’more, I burst,

Marshmellows falling into open fire.

The third degree burners linger in the

darkness of my coal inferno.

If they took a step further than that,

then they remain with skin singed –

cigarette marks left in place.

Some dare to stay so long that when they walk,

their feet crumble to bacon bits.

The boldest leave in the wind,

ashes floating into nothingness.

A ghost of what we’d been.

The worst blow me out and I sizzle away,

The best build themselves armor to stay.

You admire my flame.