Fire

The Poet must camp in the fire of pain, fear and uncertainty. From Bottle in the River.

Fire

Camp in this holy hot fire,
and stray not from feeling pain,
wait on the light of stars
to pour out upon disdain.

And the pain will then be lightening
as grief begins to retire,
and to others a new heightening
the healing will inspire.

A younger me would think me nuts,
to burn away the grief.
A braggart or arrogant drunk,
would even offer relief.

I know that this is frightening—
the life in this holy hot fire,
but the darkened night is enlightening
the stars are sparkling higher.