A fire is a tricky thing --
We set it burning in a ring
and, mesmerized, we feed its flames
Pretending it can be contained.
All it takes is just one cinder,
Set upon some naked tinder,
To create a blaze, just as hot,
And render, thus, a barren spot
From fertile lands, once lush and green.
Doomed to perish within a dream.
This is an older poem I've been trying to update. I'm open to comments and criticism on this. I'm not entirely satisfied with how it flows and will be working on edits. Right now it's ok, but not great. Looking for input.