Playing with fire

The flame doesn’t burn bright.

More like a flicker, spit and sputter of a wet wick.

It had in the past…bright, hot and passionate.

That fire burned fast and uncontrolled, letting a heap of ash.

I brush myself off.  Hold my head high.  Burned, but not burned out.

Comments

  1. I’m sorry you feel this way. I’m glad your inner fire is still burning – even if you have been burnt. You are strong – hang in there. x

  2. Anonymous says:

    hope the fire nevers burns out …great poem……..thanks

Go ahead...take a swing. I'll duck and listen.

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