Fire and Rain

It's hard to light a fire when the only wood you have is damp; Stains left from the lands conversation with the sky water, saturating - Leaking and dripping over the curve of your bark. How can the birch trust the flame after the treachery of the rain? Whose kisses came with haste A promiseto nourish and hydrate, to satisfy the thirst, Only to leave you drowning You turn to the fire, warm and dry, crackling with delight... Fingers itching to strike, to ignite. Against the grain seems the only way to gain? But like so often, the tease is more enchanting than the truth. Easy to fan and fuel, but once raised, the inferno is hard to contain. Who will prevail as the smoke smothers and blinds. Keep close to the ground as the heat rises. The fingers of flame caressing, bruising. Once your sanctury from the cold and dark Now bares down Shackling you to the ground Is it better to burn out, or wash away? Or, as you lay down your roots thick and twisted, To wait as the ivy creeps up behind you, Condemning you, a life of suffocating silence. Of poison and rot. ------------- I'm not sure if I'm happy with this poem. Hm. I think I have a love hate relationship with it - part of me wishes it was written down so that I could rip it to shreds and burn the pieces, but at the same time it represents somethingimportant to me. I think it still needs a lot of work, but I'm open to sharing it's progress here...