Sticks.

That's how it always starts.

Sticks being stacked higher and higher.

Sticks that grow higher and higher.

Sticks that eventually have to lessen in number.

So they burn.

The burning starts out slowly.

The burning builds slowly.

It starts on just a stick or two.

It starts small and nearly unnoticed.

Then it gets warmer.

And hotter.

And brighter.

And un-ignorable.

Then it suddenly engulfs all the sticks in the stack.

It grows and grows until everyone can see it.

It takes over everything.

Then slowly but surely it begins to die back down.

The sticks all burned to ashes from the furious flames.

The wind blows the ashes away.

And the sticks begin to stack once again.

I thought I saw it in his eyes once

I thought I had been the cause

But soon enough I found

I wasn't the ones feeding the flames

I thought I saw it in my eyes once

I thought he had been the cause

But soon enough I discovered

It was me going up in flames

I thought it was a beautiful thing

Something to keep safe and cherish

But soon enough it revealed that

It was a destructible force

It winds itself

Around us

And doesn't let us go

Until we're nothing but another set of ashes

Scattered in the wind

I kept a small iron candle holder on my windowsill. It was bronze, flower like, sharp edges jutted from the base like petals, curved and ragged. I ran my fingers along those edges.

The candle itself was a mere stub jammed into the base. I was too young to light candles. I might have left it burning all night, too near the curtains. It wasn't the heat I wanted as much as it was the light.

I did light it once though, briefly, when everyone was asleep. I inhaled the smell of the match and subtle rebellion, watched the flame ignite my trapped spirit, felt the heat on my face and fingers, until at last the wick burned down, leaving, finally, a trail of wax I would travel again and again for years to come.

Fire is the thing in our souls and in our minds. It’s the element that burns us to ashes and scatters us around the world on the wind. It’s the thing that brings us closer, and the thing that tears us apart. It’s the light in your eyes. It’s the terror against the night sky. It’s the one thing that we all have in common.

It’s always pulling us closer to it. The brilliance tugs at our heartstrings and reminds us of the things we’ve lost. It reminds us of the things we love. It reminds us of the things we hate. It instills itself in our soul and doesn’t care what it does to us.

Fire just burns, burns, burns, and keeps burning us to everything we are and everything we aren't.

What is it for a human to be without breath, but choked and death. T'which the same is held true for that of dancing energy of heat and light. Fire both sways and explodes as it's energy is fed with oxygen and other combustibles, typically because the human wills it so. The potential of this energy can be capped to ensure that it is a private matter, even safely harbored in the homes souls rest their body's bones. The potential can also be left to do as it pleases, scorching mother earth and her growths, cities, and given enough carelessness a nation or two. Fire is humankind and vice versa. You awoke with a passion ablaze in both heart and mind, and you can cap it if you choose. The story of the phoenix was made because a bird on fire in painting is both majestical and intriguing, yet the phoenix is what comes when you realize that the energy is your being : Hot, undying, waiting for only a small convenient gift so that you can take off, much like Icarus toward the sun. Maybe you'll see if your passion burns brighter, maybe you'll be sent back down in defeat....to try again.

Unpredictable, but predictable all the same

Vigorous rubs give birth to a flame

Flickering softly, so close to his decease

At the mercy of the chanciest breeze

Clear drops drop down, the skies torn

Suffocates the dazzling light

Wisps of smoke left behind

Rage builds another stronger than before

Dazzling orange, a red silhouette

Blinding the world with his fury

Morose blue at heart, refuses to let

Sorrow ease out painlessly

Instead allows himself to be consumed

By anger, addicted to kerosene

The tonic fuels powerful fumes

At the speed of flashing light beams

Destroying everything in his path

Barring not a single soul or bone

Madness at it's very peak at last

Purest white emanates from within, pure no more

Peace was struggling to break

The locks that strangled her neck

She was released too late

Fire had left her to deal with his mess

He looked down, suspended in space

At the black ashes he had created

In a split second of hideous craze

Burning ball of fire regretted

Such power is entrusted upon him

Yet he misuses it ever so often

Millions of different faiths worship him

Million others mourn his wrath near coffins

He surfaces in a rundown old cottage

Nauseating stench, broken bulbs, the man unfazed

Piles of snow outside as high as the mortgage

Shivering resolute arms failed to set the wood ablaze

The final matchstick his only hope, he strikes

Fire appears all at once, crackles to life

The man heaves a misty sigh of respite

Revels in the gift of warmth and light

Peace lurking in the white snow

Smiles, she is impure no more

For now, as fire is unpredictable, but predictable all the same.

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Just a fleeting thought :

Fire is a villainous hero

We mimic his qualities subconsciously

Strive to extinguish evil's inferno

Strive harder to shine brightly

A golden crackle of crimson heat pounded above, a thunderhead threatening to rain the fury of Hades down to earth. He didn’t look up. Unconsciousness was a welcome alternative to witnessing hell before he’d even properly arrived. Right or wrong, good or evil, he had to believe it was for the future, for the survival of the human race. He clung to that seed of faith as he lost his hold and slipped into oblivion.

Fire melted from above, pouring out of severed arteries and pervading everything below, a tidal wave that knew no remorse or boundaries, that cared nothing for account or recognition.

An excerpt from the novel 'Eleven Rising'-

Aubrea Summer

The shadows dance, because of it. They swirl and shift upon the walls to mimic its dance. The fire burns, but for only so long.

It's fluid grace, but is so unlike water that it has become aqua's antagonist.

It consumes, mercilessly. An endless hunger that ends in death itself. It consumes like an addict, because if it stops it dies. Simple as that.

It warms, it burns, it maims. Yet, without it, we cease to exist long.

To control it is to harness its energy. To control it, you have to be willing to get burnt.

The fire burns, and the shadows dance.

Fire

Amber flames

Roaring higher

Higher, higher

Sticks and stones may not break your bones

But Fire will surely burn you

Fire

Ruby roses

Bursting into the air

Sparks of passion

Inflammation sparks imagination

But Fire will surely burn you

Fire

Bloody matches

Littered on the ground

Spots of ash

Blood may not be your bane

But Fire will surely burn you

Dusty wind

Dried sticks

Just a spark and all is lit

Fire, Fire

The destroyer

Give me life and sink in mire

Broken tree

Flash of light

All is encased in fiery blight

Fire, Fire,

Be my squire

Set my enemies aflame

And spread my glorious name

Fire is the flame I saw in your eyes when we were only best friends, needing to converse with you every night in order to feel a kind of satisfaction for life. I needed that spark that once flew to keep me feeling a kind of happiness that once was. That was fire then, this is fire now.

Betrayal.

You lied, you told what I confided in you with.

Deceit.

There was no friendship only you looking in me for all the wrong things.

Fire is all of the drama and pain you've caused me these past couple of days. That is what fire is, with it's majestic orange glow that still seems to ring in your eyes.