by Gideon Burton
They say it burns, and I have felt this heat
as though within me reddened embers glowed,
or warming blood unchilled my frozen feet,
or cocoa comfort shielded me from snow.
They say it burns, and burning can destroy,
lay waste to timber, buildings cities, homes.
I've felt it burn in ways I don't enjoy,
its choking ash, flames licking through my bones.
The Son of suns who fashions worlds with fire
will squeeze the bellows tight with smoky air,
will weld and hammer, as we both perspire,
to cauterize my hemorrhaging despair.
The Comforter discomfits and lays waste
consumes me wholly in God's holy haste.
Photo: flickr - mujib