These words are hot
Fresh from my fingertips, raw and unrevised
Like drops of molten glass from a furnace
These words burn up my throat as I am breathing flames and steam
My heart, like a bellows, forcing syllables across my tongue
They burn and itch
Inside and out
Days, weeks, and years pass
And these fires still burn inside me
Flaring with the passion of a little boy who has not had his last question answered yet
So he screams and yells and stomps his feet
Trying to put out the question inside of him because it is burning
And he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, to let it out, the whole world will be set ablaze with his question
And he is waiting patiently, with his hand high in the air
Hoping to God that someone will call on him
Hoping that God will call on him, and offer him an answer
God, extinguish these flames!
I am burning with all the passion of a little boy who will never know the answers     
     to all the questions he cannot ask
Because he does not know the words to describe his thoughts
Because he cannot paint pictures with nouns and verbs
Because he still only speaks half English and half God
So he is coughing flames until he finds the words to ask the question whose answer will put them out
And with the fire of God inside me, I hope I will never learn the answer
I will always be searching for the words to my question
And I will always be asking questions
And I pray to God that I will never know the answers