The spark is my latest and everlasting bride;
spite is her dress, and vengeance is her veil.
With fire my brother, and the pyre my mother,
burning embers is my undying trail;
an unlit candle is my temptation and my binding jail.
Coals of resentment have burdened me all these years:
combustion ignites and liberates my fears;
flames and cinders are my tears.
Now, I lurk lustfully in the dark,
and a sear is my caressing mark.
For I am the lover, for blaze I bed;
I am the phoenix that turns the sky into a molten red;
I am the eagle—my wings of smoke rein overhead;
I am the plaque, the fever, the hotness, the heat—the widespread;
and I am the reaper who calls upon the burned, the banished—the dead;
visions of infernos calm and dance in my uncontrolled head;
yet, screams of the singed follow me—as do dreams of dread.
I walk with gray and black underfoot,
I tower over debris and soot.
A burning path I will always pursue and pave;
until, the ashes shall cover my scorched and deserved
grave.