Old Flame

Such heat in this flame yet.
Could blister the palm in seconds.
Or, cradled carefully,
Could light up a darkened room
Dance its secrets across the shadows
And lick you into its story.

There was a time.
There was a time
I used to wonder if I'd ever get to play a part.
Now I know for sure I am indeed a leading role
But only ever, of course, in the sub plot.

Such heat in this flame yet.
Hotter for the slow smouldering times,
For the winds and blasts
Its stutterings and gasps.
But steadied now
It burns and warms at last.

And only gently now do these waxen tears
Roll and fall like the sands of years.

Still passion in this madness.
Strange comfort in this sadness.