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.