There contains a flame I see,

burning wood, plumes of fire.

Hold my hands just above and

tease my fingertips with its heat.

I wonder about what’s inside,

how does the oxygen rip through

strips of kindling to help it grow.

I wonder of life’s tragedy then.

When our fears prevent chances,

we’re left with always reminders,

what ifs, why nots?

Having the courage to know its

heat, that edge, we delve inside.