Burn This Poem

Caught between caustic visions
of scarcity and abundance -
of soul, ephemerons
Some, bold, walk the earth
as if it were water,
Promethean Fire roaring from
the calderas of their hearts
bringing all that it touches
to boil.

Others, defeated, walk the earth
as if it were their grave
and nothing more -
as if they were ghosts
and nothing more -
as if this life were a play
of shadows.

Tonight I write for the ghosts,
for the shadows:

Burn this poem should it
kindle your fire.

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