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Madison Aug 2018
He was rain

The spray that came

On a scorching summer day.

He fell from his cloud

Without warning

Kissed the Flickering Flame into submission

All the while, saving a few sweet drops

Just for me.

He was the rain

That kissed the Flame and I.

He was rain

Leaving the Flame and I in wait

To see him on another day.

We danced for him

Inviting him to play

As we spun in each other's arms.

Finally, he joined us

The Flame and I jumped for joy

First side-by-side

Then miles apart.

He was the rain

That made the Flame blush

And set my selfish soul ablaze.

He was rain

Standing between the Flame and I

On any given day.

He soothed the new burns

Marring my skin

Though he always feared

He would put out the Flame.

He was the rain

That loved the Flame

While the both of them

Left me parched.

He was rain

A hurricane

Washing me away from the Flame.

The two of them laughed


And told me to swim

As I began to drown.

He was the rain

Who ran away with the Flame

Just when I thought

They could both be mine.

He was rain

And he slipped away

On a sunny winter's day.

The Flame left, too

Without a note

Left the heart within me

High, dry, and cold

Nothing there to set on fire

Or to give hope.

He was the rain

Who disappeared with the flame

Leaving me all alone.

Now, on this day

I float in a fog.

Floods on one side

On the other, burnt smaug.

I know who I am

And I'm here to stay.

I just wish that the Flame

Didn't take my rain boy away.

Still, he is the rain

Who is in love with the Flame

And I wonder

If he thinks about dry Earth like me

At all.

He is the rain

A fool for the Flame

Just like I was

All along.
A piece I did for a poetry contest about rain.
E over c2 Dec 2018
Breathe it in
The air
Whether it be blistering from the sun
Or frozen from ice crystals
Breathe and feel

The earth goes round the sun
The moon goes round the earth
The tides being pushed and pulled

My mind around you

When the only life we know is pain, a declare that it'll be all fine doesn't heal any wounds
Nor does it make the future seem more bright

Least I can say is this

A flame lives in you
Unlike anyone else's
A flame that burns and crackles and sings and puffs and billows out smoke
An engine keeping you standing
You,  have a flame whittled down by the demons in and around you, but a flame fueled by the stars, not oxygen.
See when I see your flame I see a light more powerful than any other, it's size unharming

Your flame drew me in.

And now you sit
Your flame on its last ounce of stardust thinking this is what it is
This is my flame for my life so why not blow it out.

Truth is, there's millions of stars in the sky.
And all I see in your eyes.
Stars that burn with passion and love
A sight I hold to the highest of above
And so  I write to you now not as a promise of greatness
But a reminder that the Universe is nothing but our statements
And so let me state here I say:
Do not let those demons blow your flame away.
Shelter it and fuel it with every star in your eye
And when it fades do not stop looking at the sky
For there those stars lay in peace
For eons they burn; a galactic lease
For their time is limited like you or I
And so they do not waste it, it's do or die.
So now I say I challenge your flame
To do, and burn and proclaim its name
For you are you.
And you are gold.

/Do not let someone else call you silver. /

For I am sold.
In you.

In you i see stars that accompany my dreams.
And you may not see them but i sure do
It is not a belief it is there in two;

The world seems black. But i promise you there is light.
In each one of us a flame burns like the night
So when yours loses shape look to mind and hold my hand
We're made of stardust, and so absorb it where you stand.

Hold my hand.

This life isn't easy and the stars are far away
So let's use the stars in our eyes
Lets believe in a world to make it our own
Lets stand up and say
My flame burns for me today.
Flame love pain life stars hard depression happiness fire
Terry O'Leary Nov 2013
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets

A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog

The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan

The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak

The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear

The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu

The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled

The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Poetic T Oct 2019
He was the child with the magnifying glass that lingered
in the exhalation of the heavens. Always holding it on
those of weaker statue than himself. Insects were his
starting point, as they were barbecued under the influence
of what was focused between light and glass and what
lived became inanimate just a blackened smear that he
smothered words into the dirt
                           I'LL BURN THE WORLD,

His parents saw this and in jest laughed it off as the
Immaturity of a child's frustration. That all was but a
a boy finding his place within the many echoes of manhood.
A child was maturing, and they assumed that he was not
ready for the collision of what was in-between the moments
of childhood and adulthood.

One cold and sodden night where the only things that were dry.
Were submerged in the cover of roofs and foliage.
But even the penetrating raindrops gathered in haste to soak
the earth beneath the leaves protection. All drowned within
nights flourish of immersed air. Where it felt that breath was only
in-between the flurry of h20's deluge.

Within the house, within the rooms crept a silence.
            It wasn't alone, for it wept unseen streams between the  
crisp white borderlines,  were doused in clear liquids,
Draping the curtains in non received  heavy remorse,
the only things that were burdensome were the drapes as the weight of the liquid pulled at the seams holding them aloft.

Remorse was neither felt or given. just a feeling of accomplishment.  
Felt it in the moments that succeeded between this
gathering of dead lights as a flame was lit.
But not a whisper was echoed this flame was lifeless
in the eyes of its beneficiary.
But it lept upon the walls like a ballerina, gentle,
and dancing within the confides of its given dance.

He stood in the hallway the flashback was unexpected,
but he still stood there gazing and the beauty of something
given with such frailty that a breath could extinguish
its potential. His parents had no idea, they were slumbering
within the confines of blankets that entombed the warmth.
Clasping hand even in sleep love was a subconscious yearning.
The thing with these old houses some had decretive metal over
the wind bars in beauty crafted to keep things out.

But this was his plan, what cant get in cant get out.
He'd gone in there room and stole the key.
He took a last glance, and said,
             "I Love You
,Before sealing them within. The flames were silent like
a stalker watching waiting, till the inevitable conclusion.

As things started to burn more passionately, caressing every
thing it was touching. So the smoke started to thicken like
A heavy smog it got into places the fire had not reached.
Moans could be heard, then screams at the realisation of
what was happening. He Could hear them, he could see them.
For even though a teenager he was intuitively cunning,
tinkering with everything and anything.

And small cameras were dotted around the house,
looking listening to everything that was seen and spoken.
It had come to fruition due to one such thing he had heard
being discussed by his parents.

"I saw him in the woods,

                 "Doing what darling?

"He didn't see me but the neighbours cat,
                                  "you know soot,

"What did he do, nothing bad!

                "He tied it up,
"Then threw what I thought was water on it,
                  I thought it was nasty but then!!!  

"Then what, your scaring me,

"He lit a cigarette, I didn't even know he smoked,
  "Then he discarded the match,

The cat, oh my god the cat,

But he recorded its screams, he recorded it dying,

I couldn't move I was so angry, so humiliated,
I wanted to throttle him there and then,

But ill phone the police tomorrow,
                  "He's not right, who would do that,

How dare they think that I can just be fobbed off,

                                             I was making music,
the screams were a delicate symphony,
            acoustics that's couldn't be reproduced.
It had to be from the source.

That laid, the plans for what now enveloped that house,
recording every noise, every scream. But what he needed
was for them to burn, to release the music he needed to
hear to complete his work. And they like parents gave it
there all, he had goose bumps as he heard there terror.
his eyes welled up, not in regret but the beauty that his
parent last words were given to him, so personal was this
moment that he'd never forget it.
                                                                ­          "Thank Mum & Dad,

After this he released a mix tape, that could be only
conceived from an artist, in the womb of excellence.
That's the reviews he had, it brought shudders to your
heart and mind. It was if your humanity was crying out to it.

As so forth and more were sewn in the adulation of his work.

Now he needed to make more music, but he needed more
screams to make his next piece two were not enough..

So he wandered the night, dressed in unclean wear
so not to be confused with who, or what he was..
He hung around the homeless parts of town,
plastic sheeting for roofs.. and combustible bedding.
It was as if he'd planned himself. but he had to be smart.
for this was if ill planned he would have a needle in his
arm within the year. But he took his time tiny cameras
recording visually and sound.

He had gathered the combustible elements needed to
make this a orchestra of his needing, not a duet like before.
He didn't down play his past offering, but this would make
an album of despair and monument to the flame.

It had been raining, but only lightly as he needed some
dampness in the air on there sheets cardboard mattresses.
So not to raise suspicion on the dampness of there homes.

As they moved away from the embers of barrel fires,
yes he'd thought about that. Not every home was a
crematorium a cardboard and plastic coffin of there
choosing. He waited clasping his hands together breathing
on them as it was cold night. He liked to watch, a voguer
of sort, but his wasn't the fantasy of death it was to hear the
music that was about to be sung with smoke filled lungs.

He'd set up a unique but rudimentary way to light the fire,
a small gas hob with liquid within. it needed to be a certain
temperature ignite, he had tried it before in a field out west.
Deserted he'd made a mock up of this humble place.
And he wasn't mistaken it was fascinating, the flame spread
like the wind enveloping everything but, it was a dull for even
though the flames wept of everything, its tears turning all to

It was silent, deafening, he cried for a while, there should never
be censorship of the flame, for what is a log fire without the cracking of its inner self being consumed. This was just smoke
and regret. But he now looked down at the camp, his watch
counting down the precious moments.
                                                             He whispered.

And then like a super nova the darkness was ingulfed in
the aurora of flame, gliding over the ground as if a stream
of conscious reckoning. Those near by the civilians that were
                        across the street were transfixed.
As screams embellished the flames, this was my orchestra
of light and noise. Those across the street were either screaming
or videoing the scene.
I looked at them and wondered where there humanity
had gone to, as to film this moment rather than to rush in
and save the few that they could.

I watched as the engines came, extinguishing my masterpiece
choosing the night was always preferable to the day as flames
dance better when there is less light to contaminate there beauty.

My music, I had become quite the remixer, of vocal and rhythmic
                               Within a week I had mad nine new songs.

I named them each as deserved, making them in memory of
those who perished that dreadful night.
            It was well received, a few thought it was a haunting
melody of humanity's struggle, while a few thought it was
over ambitious, and lacked the passion of my first piece.

All together it went down well, and the adulation of the
flame was kept, to honour that which gives as much as
takes the breath of life away.
A year had past and the door rang, it was an officer.

                 "Could you come to the station please,

Had I become the victim of my own success, had someone
broke down the acoustics of my music and realised what
they were?? So many thoughts went through the calm
exterior of my persona. But inside the flame dimmed,
had I lit the last candle. I was taken in to a room,
and questioned evasive not to the point but gathering
speed to the answer, where were you on the
                                                             ­       30th April 2019.

Alabi's were a fantastic thing to plan ahead, I had laced
my date with sleeping tablets to leave her in perpetual
slumber. And got back before she awoke, we made love
we were the flame and the wick.. and our sweat was the wax dripping from our form. The next week I dumped her.

They asked if I recognised a picture, blurry and ill framed
but I could make out the figure was me. No sir I don't why.
This person of interest is wearing your jacket, your logo!
I smiled and was truthful to a degree.
                                                             Planning is everything.

I threw maybe fifty into the crowd when I did a concert
in the city, when we drove past some homeless persons.
We donated what was left to them, do you realise how
cold these streets are, who am I to steal warmth away.
I don't wear my own merchandise what do you think I
am egotistical, no I wanted to help those who I could
have been if not for my music. I lost my parents I know
what its like to be alone.

I think the show went well, as I was released before
reporters even got a sniff. But I knew that my time
was a wick trying to keep the flame lit but dying out
anyway. I had made preparations for this time.

I had brought a club only for gigs, cheesy as hell but
had that 80's disco vibe the entire floor was light up.
But I had brought  the ingredients for thermite,
amazing what you learn in school and the internet.
But I never used mine different libraries in different
cities so not raise suspicion. I  invited the music critics
and others which I had personally disproved of.
its was going to be free drinks and themed 80's night.

Who can not want free drinks, well I wasn't going to be
disappointed 90% came, how lucky the few.
Phones were confiscated, no video, but more
importantly no phone calls to the outside world.
I told them at the end of the night that I was realising
a new song, they were like vultures to flesh.
As the night progressed some wanted to leave,
but we offered them the VIP section also lit flooring.

Now was the time, I had put heating elements under the floor
to ignite the thermite. A supernova of heat even though brief
would ignite the choir of harmony needed. I asked them,
                                                           ­ "Are you ready,

And then silence, I put on my welding glasses,
                                                        ­         I wasn't stupid.
Never look into the heart of the flame unless you want
to be blinded by its beauty.
I pressed a button and it was magnificent, it was like a tide of sunlight, they tried to scramble but all exits were locked.
It was like the wizard of Oz, and the witch I'm meltinggggg..
But this wasn't a fairy tale.. The adulation I had for these
chosen few. What excitement the others had missed.

I'd made my booth flame and smoke proof, I had my own
walkway but I knew that this was the last time I could pay
homage to the flame. As the screams died down.
The wicks smouldered and the floor looked more like a battle
field of  WWII. I began I knew I didn't have a lot of time.
But this was just a single I'd already got the backing music
ready. And as I worked away, I could hear the banging on
the reinforced doors. They gave me a breather to get my
work fulfilled.

I heard the doors start to give way but no matter
I'd only needed this time to tweak the music.
Given I'd started this over an hour ago, it was good
on my part for this not to be broadcast till I saw fit.
As the police burst through, gazing at the flaming
effigies that lied before them, some threw up, gross..

While others saw me smiling I pressed the button and
my new song was word wide.. its was called the critics
tried to burn me down. The response was gratifying.
Likes reached the hundreds of thousands in mere minutes.
Well it was only three minutes twenty five seconds long.
As they shoot at the booth I wiggled my finger at them.
I do like to plan ahead but dam was that loud against the
glass. Got to be said some had wicked aim, made me flinch
a few times.

But alas all things come to an end, I uploaded my videos
of what I had done. I was proud of my contribution to
my legacy and empowering others with my music.
As I looked down at the puddle, I tap danced in it for
a moment and then lit the lighter, I looked a them
and once again waved, I was like a funeral pyre.
A crematorium of silence and then I was gone.
                                                I didn't scream,
I was in her embrace and had done her proud.
M Mar 2014
Flame burn bright when we are bornèd
every laugh and tear we shed
Flame burn bright when brother wakens
under broken tire tread
Flame burn bright when kissed the first time
soft warm eyelash on the nose
Flame burn bright in late night slumber
wrapped in arms, a sweet repose
Flame burn bright when we grow older
Flame burn bright when young and crazy
Flame burn bright in stars at night
Flame burn bright, soft and hazy
and when the evening comes at last
to the only cold we'll ever know
Flame goes out.
but- while the drunken stupor lasts,
while we're living, wild and fast,
Flame burn bright.
Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter
Three years ago today Muhammad Bouazizi set himself on fire igniting the Jasmine Revolution in Tunisia sparking the Arab Spring Uprisings of 2011.
Alejandro O Jun 2015
Beautiful flame princess, where could you be?
Oh; Beautiful flame princess. so sweet, innocent, and serene.

Beautiful flame princess, I wonder if you could see that the universe has bought me to you.
Oh; Beautiful flame princess, I know you don't know me.

Beautiful flame princess, won't you light up those beautiful brown eyes through the universe I was able to hear you're cries.
Oh; Beautiful flame princess, I know you think I'm full of lies.

Beautiful flame princess , I was made for you.
Oh; Beautiful flame princess, won't you light up the sky. and if you're willing then I'm willing to try.

                                             Beautiful Flame Princess.
Dale Birren Jun 2014
Flame, Dear Flame
So dull yet so bright
Guide my journey through the dark

Flame, Dear Flame
So frail, yet much alight
Guide my sight with your amber spark

You are the key that unlocks the instrument betwixt my ears.
You are my shepherd through the thorns of Evil's might.

Flame. Dear Flame
Dying, yet full of life
Keep me warm through the cold of night
Kelly Sep 2012
For all hours when all must fade.
Like flame on flame, and deep on deep.
When all half sleep.
The Iron sword upon the knees.
Blood flows in pools as all lay.
Like flame on flame, and deep on deep.
Francisco DH Oct 2012
The candle was lit, and it burns with such intensity, after you gave a slight touch
The flame dances licking my heart but pleasure is felt as it warms my soul
The wax runs down cooling as it gets farther from the heat but I do not wander off
For this flame is the light that I must use if I am to find you

A wind blows from the depths of the darkness
But this flame does not go out as it withstands this obstacle
It laughs and jeers for it is still there never to go

No harsh wind, no force of any kind
Will be able blow it out, for I will protect it
Though it be eternal I will guard it with all my being
For it is mine to protect and cherish

I am the only who can **** the light it gives
Only I can end the flame’s life but I don’t
This flame, my flame,  will be kept
It shall be an eternal flame
Victor Marques Dec 2009
The flowers of my garden are happy and free,

The silence of the night is in flame...

Be good, be humble don't complain,

The universe is generous for you and me...

The flame is the flame that you love to see.

The flower is a flower in the vase in a distant sea,

The boats come to the same port...

The flame is up the north.

In the golden stars of the flame of the night,

It is the same flame for the poor and the bright,

The lights that you and the mirror can love and see,

Are the flame of you and me...

Kindest regards from the best region for Port
Aurora RW Aug 2019
He is like a flame that burns, brighter than any star in the sky.
A flame lit by the soul to survive a thousand winters.
A flame so delicate and so bold is cause for my restlessness.
None shall sway this flame of mine, its light too great,
Too powerful.
It can be spat on, blown on, poured on from endless monsoons.
And yet his flame burns bright.
My flame, his heart, all suffering,
All enduring.
Cannot be Shaken,
Fears nothing,
Believes and loves all.
His Flame so bold and beautiful,
Slowly causing my demise.
His flame I love with greater passion,
Stronger than Hercules,
My flame exists on hope,
believes all,
feels all,
knows all.
His flame, my flame,
Will never give up.
Mind Wanderer Feb 2015
As the stars shine in the dark night sky, my heart shines upon your soul.
The flame encases them, flowing through them, around them
Descending upon the earth they separate
Journeying to find each other again
I will never stop seeing you for what you are.

Her eyes are a fiery world of emotion, volcanic
The depth is endless, shaken from the reality of this world
Soft gentle skin, smooth, unseen perfection
Her mind an endless ocean of thought
She breathes, searching, for the flame that burns within

His mind battered from the constant misunderstanding
The past is over and his new beginning is overdue
Searching for the taste of all that he knows, Searching for the flame that burns within

The universe sets it’s plan in motion
It’s an inevitable fate
Two souls searching, working toward this certain conclusion.
The flame is cast, frequency’s align

Ascending far above the earth
The flames merge once again, bound by destiny
And again the flame encases them, following them into eternity
Forever searching for the merging of the twin flame.
Much have been said
About my brother
How from his hands
Borne both
And destruction
Songs were sung
About trivial flickers
And infernos legendary
Allow me to say
My piece about
My brother flame
Words seems lifeless
Next to your colored streaks
Hearths spark
Candles shine
Is the burn from my oven
Life is borne
From your touch
Embers glow at your grasp
Metal refined from your speech
The world itself
Is teeming in life
For the sun
Looks down upon it
In its heart
My brother flame
Burn brightest
Is the element of change
You burn from the tears
Of the oppressed
You blaze from the verses
Of the revolutionary
Artists, lovers, and dreamers
Their eyes burn
With passion
Your disposition
My brother has never been cold
My Sister Wind
You warm her
With your embrace
Shed her chains and give her wings
That she may fly
Full of grace
Brother flame
You are a legend
May bards sing forever
Your songs
How you cradled the Phoenix
In its death
And herald its birth
From the same ashes it came from
How you fled with Prometheus
From Olympus
And sparked the dreams of men
You are a perfect instrument
Of God’s glory and renown
After heaven denied Earth
Elijah’s offer you consumed
On Horeb
Have seen you burning
A lonely bush
You’ve shown this lonely shepherd
He was standing on Holy Ground
And on God’s plan
Much have been said
About my brother flame
My piece reveals
Of those I am certain
These three

A wedding gift for R.E.
Anderson Ritchie Feb 2012
A flame of Holy ordination
and ignition, shall not soon
burn out and falter.
This flame though a wick it
surely hath, will not expire,
tho' should you cover it
all its bright light shall fade,
let this light beam boldly
into shadows and all shall
tremble and fear.
This flame of Holy ordination
lit with the softest touch,
grows brighter and fiercer,
tho' not in anger or hate,
but passion, and should
this flame lose that bright passion
then I surely would weep, and
prostrate myself in search of
re-ignition, for this flame is better
for five minutes than darkness eternity
in darkness,
I earnestly seek this flame.
Adam Childs Mar 2015
I am the fire that holds the glow
of a hidden flame that captures
all that fall within.
As all my fire flowers around me
bellowed by every heartbeat.
As many invisible doorways break
open and all is awakened in air of ruby
reds and orange flame, as they
burst and bloom.  

I am the fire that swallows all fire so
shout at me more little drill sergeant
for you light my fire.
For I will explode all over your anger
and blow you out like a little candle.
As I am a colossal fiery breeze as turbulent
winds encircle like a forest fire I engulf.

My coat shines and glows with orange
embers fanned by a million life times
of survival.
The power of my radiating heat melts
bones like ice in boiling water or the
hot sun against margarine.
Dare you look into my stare take a dip
a little swim and I will reignite your

I am the WILD Tiger never in caged by
any shouldst or ought to for I am a free
and my path always open for me to seek
fuel for my flame.
As my fire is never suffocated by conditions
or rule as I possess all the space around me.
Like oxygen I **** it all in while exploding into
higher spaces much greater places.

I feel the taste of LOVE and HATE as they are
both painted upon my tongue and feed my
Like two sticks Love and Hate I rub them both
together please give me more smoke and fire.
You rub your soft injustice against my hard wood
I will bring you storm clouds and flames.
As I fight for right as naturally as gravity is
pulling us to earth.
I will transform any situation never stopping
to ask if I can as I throw myself at anything.

I wash souls of petty despair as they bath
within my glare.
Come close to me and I will hold you tenderly
in the nets of my sight like hammocks
in my eyes.
Let me lick and sooth your many wounds
as we together we softly purr.
Purring sweetly together like a V8 engine I can
slowly restore all your strength and power.

I pounce and spring of solid rock that feels
so soft and elastic like rubber.
A thousand coordinated sparks ****** themselves
forward as they blaze a trail to fast for the brain.
You will be liberated when you find my fire
rocket blades ignited we will dance and play
through time.

So much can be gained when running with the
Tiger, caressing air with a watery velvet.
As you slip through a jungle with a silky strawberry
orange flame, how we Love the beautiful
Tiger's Flame
Queen of passion
Broken through love
She who gives all
Surely loses it all

Passions burning flame
No other flame may withstand
Burning out
Flame versus flame

Sad socrpio
You let a dull match in
Twig with no spark
Stealing your fire
Dulling her shine

Sad Scorpio, you know
Flame dulled
Stolen fire, a burning rage
Sad scorpio

Broken by a dull stick
Dull stick
Calls you dull

Sad Scorpio
Sad, sad Scorpio
Wishing to burn
She has been robbed

Flame stolen
Flame that once burned
All who challenged

Sad Scorpio
Steal your flame back
You let him burn

He won't reignite your flame
He burns you
Burns you up
Yet you stay, sad Scorpio

Says he is the only one
Who will keep you warm
He burns you

Sad Scorpio
Steal your flane
Let him dwindle
Shine again
Work in progress, bit of a train of thought
TussyLambz Jul 2018
I want it so bad
Never going to quit it
Flip the switch and hit ignition
Toss these hands I talk in all ten digits

**** wishing - let me finish,
Raw- dish it out the kitchen
Saw- vision now they listen
Off an opp and take position

Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking

God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame

Agh! I'm a savage, a beast
Murdering beats, I read it and weep, God
Looking to thee, God- never going to stop watch
Put 'em em a lock box.. one shot

So sorry, not the man you needed
On my knees I don't believe em'
Read between I'm not deceiving
Split the means I mean

Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking

God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame

Hope I can say something worth a ****
Hope I can change something understand this
Pressure pinning me down
Picture myself under the ground

Taking leaps and bounds
Can i stand it be without
Peaking then drown - **** it all
Speaking my meaning - Hear me now

Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking

God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame

Agh why looking to me for something deep
I can’t even feel emotion
let that **** repeatin’ heat in motion
seeking to be not broken

Leave it to me, reach between lost omens
Looking to feed the beast I’m hopin’
Ahead of my time I’m rapping these rhymes
But go unnoticed

Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking

God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
listen here:
Koketso Hlahla Sep 2015
I've always wanted to know how it feels to be a flame, or a dime.
I've seen people looking like they were born in perfection, with no regrets about their reflections. And looks were never a lesson they had to learn.

I've always wanted to know how it feels to be a flame, or a dime.
I've seen them smile with a perfect smile, with faces clear from lines. No scars, cause they look like stars.

I've always wanted to know how it feels to be a flame, or a dime.
I mean, looking so pretty and you do it so effortlessly and every second person throws a flirt, just to see if they could be with thee.

I've always wanted to know how it feels to be a flame, or a dime.
When you put on pajamas and still look like a runway model, while other run away from run ways cause they aren't model enough for runways.

I've always wanted to know how it feels to be a flame, or a dime.
I guess it feels like perfection cause you're in love with your reflection and you get compliments every second.

I've always wanted to know what it feels like to be a flame, or a dime.
I guess I'll never know.
Cause that's just how things go.
Looks aren't for us all.
Just for you, and your all.
You look beautiful.
I noticed that perfection fell for your reflection. I hope that was the right decision.
I hope your voice, personality  and heart are just as beautiful.
Amitav Radiance Apr 2015
I watch that flame
Flickering coyly
Yet so powerful
Radiance around
Wakes up the flame
Within me
Reflected outside
A silent bond
Flame sways
My eyes follow
It movements
Burns with passion
The air and silence
Adds to the ambiance
Here I sit alone
With the flame
That lights my path
Troy Feb 15
The flame of love
So contained while it's flourishing
But remove the barriers of love
And the flame turns on you

It sets you ablaze
As the flame turns dark
Causing unbearable pain
As you wish for it to end

You try so hard
To put up a wall
Around this new flame
But to no avail

It burns so hot
You feel like you could melt
Your chest clenched tightly
As every beat pounds

Holding tightly
You ask yourself
What did I do
To deserve this pain

But you hear no response
No whisper to let you know
That the flame that's inside
Is the flame of sorrow

It burns so vibrant
It threatens to burn
Right out of your chest
Leaving you hollow inside

But nothing can help
Only time will tame it
For when this flame burns
All hope feels lost

You beg and plead
For it to stop
But the best you can do
Is calm the sorrow

Do other things
Hang out with friends who care
For they will help you heal
Over this time of torture

Forget about the past
Cause you can't change it
Things happen that's out of our control
And it's okay to feel hurt

But just remember
That burning inside
The flame that seems to never die
Will slowly fade away in time
brian odongo Feb 2018
We lit a flame in an opaque  world
Not from wood but from a  candle
For woods sparkles bright
But produce ashes that cause blight
But candles melts to produces a stronger wax
Such is our flame burning to only reproduce a greater love
We lit a flame that first set our hearts on fire
And the fire spreads and then put our whole soul a blaze
Our flame is not shaken by violent winds
But it sways side by side dancing even to its violent  rhythms
Hand in hand ,heart in heart we lit a flame
A flame that does not burn down but builds up
A flame that that light our own souls and other souls too
For such is a candle it burns not for its own sake
O Beloved.
Wound me with tenderness
as I embrace Your living flame of love.

Burn away my fears and self-pity
that holds me back from being
consumed by the flames of Your love.

Ignite the hearth of my own heart,
so I may share Your living flame
with tenderness to spread the flame of divine life.

Melt away my insecurities and dishonesty, so
I can stand before You as a living flame burning
wildly to embrace everything as a gift from You.
Harrison W Jan 2016
No flame is ever burning
It starts with a combustion
And blows into a stirring hot passion
But no matter how bright
Flame will always wither away into the unknown

Where has the flame gone?
One would ask
Why has the flame done this to me?
Another would scream
Why can't I even get flame in the first place?
Some will cry about

The answer is simple
Flame comes from a part combustible material
But that's only half the battle
It also needs to be exposed to an oxidizer and heat
And on top of that it needs to continue to be exposed to oxygen for oxidation
This can only be achieved through something called work
Jason S Apr 2012
I am the furnace master
     the pyromaniac
   the keeper of the warm
          inviting flame
         I am the fire, you are my fuel
                The world is my fuel
be not careless, lest the fire consume your mind
                      The flames rule all things
                 They make meaning from nothing
        They are the mover, the pusher, the guider of all
     Try to control it, and it finds a way around you
If it cannot move around you, it moves through you
     If not through you, then it finds a new place to rage
            The flame burns all, though few can see
             The flame is everywhere, no one is safe
               It has surely been in your heart, your soul
           You felt it, And you knew it was there
The flame called you to life, and showed you the path, and you knew
   But knowing how, and doing, are completely different
        All have felt the flame, but not all know of it
Subtlety is the game, straight-forward strength, subtle motion
  Surely all have felt the lovers passion, and the flame of life
     Surely you have felt the flame of hatred, or of hunger  
                                      The fire of anger, of joy, of sorrow
Even those who, like me, spend their lives thinking they rule the flame,
Are only puppets, actually serving it.
Ariana Mar 2012
I am the moth, you are the flame.
I am blinded in the darkness,
Surronded by the cold.
I am fragile, weak and fleeting.
I am the moth.

You are the flame.
You burn bright and true,
Chasing away shadows with your light.
You draw me closer and closer,
Enticing me with the heat you exude.

I am the moth intoxicated by the flame.
You are forbidden, yet irristable.
The fire is seductive, untameable, and wild.
My desires are undeniable.
But to touch is to be burned.

I am the moth, killed by your flame.
Mitchell Duran Oct 2013
The Flame
Is the only thing

We have.

Without it,
We are but

A shadow  
With the dawn.

A leaf
Cut from its

A wave that has crashed
But with no sea
To return to.

The flame began
By chance;

All important things do.

I see the beginning in a
Droplet of dew hanging from the grass;

Soft angel breath's of a
Waking new born;

Or the lonely valleys
Whose names are lost for good.

Perchance I can one day understand
What the magic is we have at hand.
There are so many distractions these days,
That many seem to have lost their way.

I breathe.
I close my eyes.
I see a place with a name
That exists in another time.
I frame it to see it, but it
Is far past my vision.

This collision,
This friction of wishing,
Believing, hoping, dreaming,
Leaves me hopeless

And alone.

How can one be so caught up with a dream,
Yet live another life so far from that reality?

The flame dances inside a crystal holder.
Wax spills down from the heated smolder.
I see this and come to realize,
The flame stays the same, only I get older.

There the flame sits,
Deep within me.
I shine her keys.
I adhere to its wishes.
Went it's tired,
I do its dishes.

And we live like this.
Whistling through the cracked, dampened
Seeing with two pairs of eyes.
Taking turns when the other feels the need to sigh,
Brushing away the idea,
That everything up to now's been a lie.

When she goes away,
I'm lost and unseen.
And when she returns,
I'm too to tired to believe.

A day goes by.
And another does too.
Then soon, when her warmth has healed me,
I can sit down and begin, once again.

The Flame:
She rests underneath your pillow
And pushes the branches of the willow.
She cries into your shoulder,
As you cradle her head and
She's the baker at 3am
To brew your coffee and cook your bread.

And when she dies,
You will die.

And together, you'll live on,
Far past the eulogy, the tears, the sobs, and deaths decree.

You'll live within
The words, the tastes, the sounds, and the seams.

You'll live together weaving

Another's dreamer's

Janette Aug 2012
Born to the night in the cry of wolves,
We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies,
Shrouding the night in silver spools;
The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul,
This midnight offering, a white entice;
My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight,
And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion;
Challenging the flame that burns; entwined....

Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon,
In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender
Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken;
We shiver....I shiver,
I am warm arms embraced;
Your lips hard yet soft against my side,
The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame...

The long moon steps into midnight;
My *******, full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall,

Luscious to the hush of soft smiles
Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples;
Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast;
Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove...

Eyes closed and deep of breath,
Moistness seeps the sugared flower,  and longing surges deep;
Shudder me wicked, drench me quick;
The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart
His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge;
Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness;
Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers.
Thigh's whispering and heart pounding ,
Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing
And shadow sways to moonlight...

Velvet-soft, the  sweet of tongue's mesh,
Fire burning,
The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover;
Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot,
Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air,
And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures
Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard,
Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure....

I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission;
Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger,
Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans;
Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars
Suckling whispered thoughts;
With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love
....And in....time my love..................
His rain, has become my decadent addiction.........where my thoughts manifest into tangible words, written slowly over his flesh........laced with twilights absolute surrender drowning, in the renewal of his liquid seduction....grasping, frantic starless wishes in hand....chasing shadows...I curl to myself, longing for your darkness...falling into a cradle of need finding myself ...rocked alone..... J
Caleb John Nov 2017
There's a flame in this world thats been used to take down the men of this world. Its a flame that leaves a burn and then we wonder why did i turn. That flame is an instinct that looks so good the feel of its warm light but its easy to forget its bitter bite. Its a tattoo and it only takes one night to leave its burns on you. So many boys chase it because its an addiction. These boys never grew up to become men. They chased after that girl and afterwards they feel the need to hurl because after that night l they realize they feel different. They lost a part of themselves and took a part of her to. Dont chase after that flame it will leave you scorched in pain. You wouldnt believe the burns from that flame. Luckily i never felt the full force of that heat but ive seen the scars and regrets of those who are ready to place another bet. I look around and see Godless boys curled around that flame not aware of the scorch not aware of the pain but im no better then them. I try to warn them but they only scoff and mock telling me i dont know the pleasure. But its not pleasure its pressure with so many pains i cant even imagine. Dont chase that flame it will turn a Godly man into a Godless boy.
All the ingredients are in place
Then a spark and a flame is born,
But flames are weak.
They must be fed daily
The winds can make it stronger,
But be careful the winds can blow it out.
The flame grows stronger

Soon others notice the blaze
They wonder where I got the flame
I try to explain
If I’m lucky I can see their ingredients
Sometimes watch their spark
Help tend their flame
And sometimes they reject your fire
I strive to keep it burning
Strive not to get discouraged when I can’t maintain post gas explosions

But when it does become an inferno
Then the fun begins
You can’t help setting things on fire
It becomes a shield
Flaming armor that protects you from the enemy
Wings of flame that carry you and your dreams
A shield to protect those you love
A raging inferno that challenges the darkness
A beacon of hope to all who search
And all this came from humble beginnings
All of this comes from a simple spark
An old poem of mine that I cleaned up
Styles Dec 2016
from a flame
hidden it resides
burning deep inside
engulfing our spirits
with pleasures beyond divine
tamia Nov 2015
what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
a fire that started slowly
then grew taller, grew brighter
a beam of light in the darkness that was magic to me.

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
i felt its warmth and i spectated
i came closer and it suddenly turned into different hues
gentle yellows, angry reds, sullen blues.

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
it was beautiful, it was bright
it was burning, a star in the night
but then it hurt too much, i could no longer fight.

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
i came to close to your fire and you scorched my soul
and i knew what i had to do:
i had to put you out for the better.

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
and i'm sorry i stole your fire, i let you die down
i'm sorry i let you hurt me
and make me feel like i was being burnt alive to a slow and steady death

what a beautiful thing it is to have loved such a flame
and now all you are is ghostly smoke
slightly suffocating me still
but fading away while i sit in the darkness
acacia Jul 2019
Postured up high
green vertical sign
vertical is blue
after green comes blue

He takes it in all night
sipping from a cursed chalice
pull down your armor
show the world your undergarments
take off your hidden charms

Drag a sword across the way
stab them in the chest
they pray to your name
they pray you find their way
Uncoil your serpent
let jets rush through your ears
feel your soul detach, feel your spirit detach,
let this hole detach, keep your spirit in tact

You'd look softer in moonlight
you, the God, calls upon Mount Lake --
you dip your mind into the "A-ness of A";
flail all of your belongings, they belong to the ground
everything is all natural, everything you do is a distraction

Contemplation -- is that what you want?
contemplation -- is that your goal?
Followers think you're their only true lover,
they lay down their kidneys for you --
pedestal, you lay on, above the matrix,
above the world, above (y)our citta, above the soul;

take back everything you say,
purge all of your thoughts: you never had to be this way,
your ghosts now lurk in your pocket, bees swarm your eyes,
they will never stop until -- don't ponder stupid questions like that,
don't assume I'm higher than you, don't you assume I grovel at you feet --

go to the planet of nothing, see what it all really looks like
grandiose can only get you so far
your arrogance stinks up your soul
this room wreaks with cynical fascism, the carpet molds
and your contagious bacteria grows

I will clean up your mess for you,
I'll bask in this narcissistic stench of yours
they take your pictures, they curse at your name,
they see you smile, they lick up your blame
I'd want to be your only true lover
I'm not a spatial thinker

You follow up the road to the stairs
to the highest door shrouded in white
Here,you sing in hymns and snowy tundras,
Here, you are clad in black
your skin is white as carbon
your heart is browner and darker and blacker than below

I burn down your trees
you burn down my city
they aid in your destruction
pseudo-knowledge is their best bet
you've tricked them all now

Get out of my castle
this could be Our castle
I'm ready for it right now
give me the Green light,
let me be the blue-black flame,
the flame to hold your white up high

O, my flame
I still hold your vision in my mind
the walks we will take
the grass verdant and the water trickling
down our steps
it's all there to remind ourselves
that we are interwoven with ourselves and
the birds and trees and bees
these bushes float above the grassy hills
Do you still love the fairies? The spirits
are nothing but our own mind, we are the spirits
in the garden, in our garden, in your garden

O, my flame,
some things will never change
some things have never changed at all
though it may seem that way
to our unseeing eyes
to our veiled eyes
we cannot see all colors, anyway,
so what makes you think that we
see it all? we cannot hear all sounds, anyway,
so what makes you think that we
can contemplate it all?

I will always be there for you, Ground,
to feed you and to water you
O, my flame,
the night-light breathes through
our trees, we walk the distance in the night
the rain won't touch us here
Do you want it to touch us there?

O, my flame,
swim towards me, swim through the fields,
swim through the meadows, swim through the air,
swim through the porous clouds, swim through the smoldering
smoke, swim through the smoke-soaked toads, swim in a knee-length
whatever it takes to get towards me, whatever it takes to get near me,
whatever it takes to fall in me,
say you are still kindled
Some things will never change
A wolf left out in the cold,
fed the last scraps,
no matter how old.
he could be free... perhaps.

one day a she wolf wandered past,
green eyes that mesmerized,
he hoped different from the last.
it was her beauty he realized.

wolfia turned to be her name,
his heart of ice soon burned,
and wished her harness his flame,
he'd be there, whene'er she'd turn.

"if you were the moon, i'd howl for ye."
he said with passion in his voice.
she turned her head away from he
forget his flame... he had no choice.

he then wandered, with heavy heart,
past dragon, fox, and fire the same,
nothing that he passed did start,
come even close to feeding his flame.

he wandered and then yet he saw her,
near another, locked in his flame.
the first wolf watched, and almost sure,
she's like the others, just the same.

he knew this wolf would be no good,
the first wolf watched with an icy chest,
he knew, intervene, its what he should,
but found that nature did the rest.

He wished to aid her, he truly did,
he'd care for her, no matter what,
the tears on her face, he wished to rid,
but he felt only inside his twisted gut.

wolfia never saw the pain he felt
not the wounds, the howls or cries
not the crimson blows she dealt.
he hid it well beneath his lies.

the wolf by which went many a name
alexei, lucian, wolfffay too,
felt he should forget his flame.
the act of which, he'd never do.

he vowed to watch her, care for she,
love and cherish what all they had,
hoping for just what might be,
he'd be there for her, the good and the bad.
AD Sifford May 2014
Thank you God
For the flame You've sparked in me

Lord, burn my heart
With the light of your Spirit
Set Fire to my soul

I want to live for You forever
God consume me in the flames
Of your blazing love
May my life be a burnt offering to You

Use me, O Lord
As a match
To light the world

Ignite me, God
Then let loose my soul
As a leaf set afire
Fluttering in your mighty wind
Spinning across the fields of this world,
Heating everything I touch

May the fire spread to all who will hear
So that they too may burn with passion
For the One and only God

God use me
My life
My testimony

Make my mouth a furnace
May my words consume the world
May my tongue burn for You
May those who hear me burn like the Sun
May I be as the brightest star in heaven

God, let your fire spread
It cannot be contained in me
I'm but a single blade of grass
The flames reach out from me
Longing for more to burn

Spread my flame
May it become a blaze

Reach across the fields
And through the woods
And up the mountains

Lord, may I burn across the sea
To reach the ends of the earth
With the fire of your Spirit

May You kindle this flame within me
Never let it flicker
Never let it wink
But let it burn brightly in my eyes
And pour out from my lungs

You have set a fire within me
Your Spirit burns in me
A flame that cannot be quenched

I am melted by your love

But the world is cold
It lives without warmth
And it finds no light of fire
It knows not of the flame
It seeks warmth but has no match
No flint that will ignite it

In your hands You hold many torches
Lord I am but one
Throw your torches down on the world
So that it too may burn
Warm with your love
Glowing with your hope and peace
Throw your fire on them
So that they may know
The comfort of your flame
So they too can light their paths
And see in dark places

Oh, dear God
You have ignited a flame within me
A flame that cannot be quenched
Now let your light shine
And let your heat rise
Let my faith burn
Until the world is all ablaze

God set this world on fire
As You have done for me
Lord set your world on fire
Let your children burn
So by your light the world may see
|Written 2011|
*from my Ignite collection, being poem #5. Please see the collection page itself.

© 2017 A.D. Sifford.
I'm okay with you sharing my poems, but I ask that you show courtesy. Please be honest about the authorship by attributing it to my name. Thank you,
- Sifford
Kiefer D McRay Feb 2013
New heart flame so bright
Atop this ancient Candle
Awakes my day-old fright.
Fiery memories of this forgotten scandal.

I wouldn't recommend -
Defending someone so lost in their own eyes.
Their soul flies
No need to compromise.
Everyday is self-justified.

It's a way to think,
eat, and feel.
All about me,
every speech, step, and meal.

You can't reprimand.
After all, it's tough to need
To be needed.
To let yourself actually care,
That kinda thing slightly impairs.
Your sense of judgment I hear.

Always been unmovable.
Every day, just me and the sun.
All my dreams, so approachable.
In between, my daily fun.
Until a new heart flame came bursting through
Bearing gifts and cursing me with thoughts of you.
Strike my morals with your lightning bolt of a smile.
An instant to re-think, and deny my deepest denials.

We as humans think colors when we feel emotions.
Something our brain does, call it thought recognition.
A crimson flame turned brighter magenta.
Within my ever-cautious aura.
Mixing simplicity with complications.

New heart flame
I wonder if I need you.
Lavender stroke of luck, guess it doesn't matter.
No one's to blame
At least now I've something to do.
Spending every day trying to flatter.

Learned a lesson on love today.
That it's just being who you are, every bit you can admit.
With someone standing there and accepting it.
Like a new heart flame shinning there in the fray.
Or just telling someone something you never thought you'd say.
That I'm always here for you, and I'll never quit.
Peter Tanner Jan 2015
Within the darkness there is a solitary flame.
Flickering, nobody but the wind to blame.
The wind could do nothing, no, not even faze.
Next, the cold and damp rolls right in.
Now the blanket of warmth is turned thin.
The flame is now much weaker in this gloomy haze.
Within these conditions the flame cannot thrive.
No, within these conditions the flame cannot survive.
Now dying alone in this darkness, no longer the previously warm blaze.

These elements can't help who they are.
Just as much as a sun can't help being a star.
The flame just does not belong here.
Where it faces the cold and gloom in fear.
It must leave and return,
To the place where it can be bright and burn.
There it can thrive.
There it can surely survive.

— The End —