The Flame

In the dark, I sit and stare.
This flickering flame feeding on air.
Silent sound, low but bright.
Though it doesn't need much to give me light.
The smoke rises, like ghosts of the burn.
Beautiful yet ugly, gentle yet stern.
The images they cast off on the walls and my face.
The crowd that has gathered to watch in it's grace.
The warmth it casts off, more than just heat.
It lightens my heart my heart and burns with it's beat.
The ashes that fly, they dance in it's flame.
Feeding freely, nothing in it's aim.
As majestic as it seems, destruction lies inside.
For whatever it can burn, runs to ty and hide.
Because we know that all that is pretty,is usually strong and sheds no pitty.
But it gives me hope, somewhat a spark.
That as long as I know, I'll have light in the dark.