Muse of Fire

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention. - Shakespeare

Sometimes I find old writings that could be sharpened and shared. What follows below is one of those.

There is a warmth to her. An invitation.
Something comfortable that is so simple to ease into.
She does it without malice and without thinking.
It is effortless and subtle, like the warmth of sunlight at dawn.

She does not stop at warmth. Not once she decides where she’s going.
You will know. Because that comfort ever so slowly fades into heat.
It is here that you should know what you are getting into.
You can still step away.
Look around at the dry kindling of your life, psyche and soul.
Are you sure you wish to see how things burn?

Now a spark.
The flame has caught and slowly flickers.
It burns so small at first. Fascinating, hypnotic.
Beautiful in a way that you can’t look away from.
The light in the darkness has always been a thing of magic.
You must be careful with magic.
But you do not know how.
You never learned.
So you bring more to the flame.

Now she is that primal force that made men.
Fire. New and ancient, creator and destroyer.
The intense flames burn hot and light the world to the edge of night.
The sublime, it’s a place of fear and beauty.
You stand in awe of all the glory that she is,
Even as you realize she is more than you.
She will not be contained or controlled.
You cannot tame her.
And deep down you would never want to.
Even as she consumes you.

Conflagration and inferno.
You cannot breathe. You are engulfed in the essence of her.
Caught in the raging fire that is both baptism and cremation.
You may be scarred by this.
Your world will never look the same.
Yet you howl into the firestorm.
Into the devastating, passionate fury of life at the edge of all things.

The worthy will endure. The rest are as cinders on the wind.
Which are you, intrepid soul that would dare to play with fire?

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