Fire

I’d rather be the flame of hot desire –

an intermingled pile of red and gold.

I wouldn’t want to seem aloof and cold

a gleaming silver wall of ice and steel.

I couldn’t live as ice.  I need to feel

the rapture of the ever-moving sea

the awe of knowing what I still could be

the sorrow, being present at a death

to hear the very last release of breath.

I cannot always smile oh-so-sweetly.

Everything I feel I feel completely.

I’m never slightly angry, kind of sad,

a lukewarm sorrow, only partly glad,

but dive into the deep sea of despair

or sing into the joyous mountain air.

All these things, I know, I’d be denied

if I were ice, and I stayed locked inside.

I’d rather need to learn how to forgive

than find that I’ve forgotten how to live.

I’d rather keep my passion.  I’ll be fire.