The Fire

The fire was lit,
at the top of the hill.
It was lit in all its splendor.
The fire, it had power,
and it was its power I needed to heal.

The fire was lit,
and so I spoke to it.
I cried to the fire,
but the fire stayed lit.
It's flames could not be extinguished by my tears.

The fire was lit,
but I had a beef;
"I'm mad at you fire,
because you ignored me."

The fire was lit,
but I kept on talking.
"Fire, I know you can hear me. I know
you see my tears of frustration."
But the fire did not budge. It stayed lit.

The fire was lit,
I stayed and I talked.
"Okay," I told the fire,
"I guess I'm not angry, I guess I should say.
I'm sorry I yelled."
The fire calmed a little.

The fire was lit,
but now it was listening.
"I'm sorry," I told the fire.
"I need your flames. I need your warmth.
Please help me, fire."

The fire was lit,
but now it was smaller.
"Fire, pleaes help me. Things are not so well.
I feel so alone and I'm cold,
can you tell?"

The fire was lit,
and still I continued.
"Fire, I'm lonely, you're all I have left.
I'm sad, and I'm crying
I'm desperate, and scared."

Suddenly, the fire died.
It was no longer lit.
It was then, I felt its power.
In its final breath, the fire had given me its gift.
The fire had given me strength.