There
are those who worship fire,
the
devil mistress that sneers at fate,
that
burns the corpse upon the pyre
and
boils anger into hate.
There
are those who worship fire
-but
no! not the same that brings despair.
Above
the base there is a higher;
among
the common there is the rare.
For
both bad and good can be the blaze,
used
to destroy but also make.
A
force to build as well as raze,
a
thing that gives and not just takes.
The
blacksmith’s forge glows with the heat
that
transforms iron into steel.
And
on the anvil the hammer beats
to
create the sword with every peal.
But
just as soon could it form a tool
that
like Prometheus gives mind to man,
and
over opponents he could rule
with
not metal - but fire - at his command.
There
are those who use this flame,
you
can see it shining in their eyes.
Immolated
they embrace the pain
knowing
from the ashes they again will rise.
And
like the phoenix born anew
with
a trial passed to make them stronger,
they’ll
return once more with the few
to
the coals to stand, a little longer.
Slowly
their muscles begin to burn
and
the black smoke stings their eyes and lungs.
But
all things great must first be earned,
any
worthy victory is not lost but won.
With
one small spark the heart explodes
from
the kindled tinder of their desire.
Although
it’s water on which they row,
they
are the ones who worship fire.
