Sacred Flame

True Fire, born of the spark;
Blue Fire, trickster in the dark.

Bright Fire, boon for the bless’d;
Blight Fire, to deal with the rest.

Bold Fire, strong and stout;
Old Fire, near burned out…

There are no coincidences

I can taste the fire
on your lips as they entice
me to ascend even higher –
lightning just struck twice.

Each moment is so nice
but it’s getting rather dire
and I could use a little ice.

However, I will never tire
of your rich and fragrant spice.
You’re my guiding, stalwart spire;
lightning just struck twice.

The pyromaniac’s instruction manual

Build an altar out of wood,
a foundation for the fire,
that with a little luck should
climb ever, ever higher.

Next strike the spark – a fickle sire
whose progeny could be quite good
or a calamity most dire.

Then where once your altar stood,
now breathes a fledgling pyre
that potentially could
climb ever, ever higher.