The fire is within him,
The one who believes in the colors of life:
Lights that dance with the stars in the night
They fill his sight and embody his soul.
To average eyes it might breed delight,
Bugs in flight that illuminate darkness
Soar with majesty, marvelous wonders
Become divinity to others.
Those who are wise, like the child,
see this fly as his life, or her heart,
Or his goals or her drive,
Their passionate art.
The sickness, fire, or insanity you might
Just suffer, wondering strongly all times
About each, and then all of the facts of this life
Is simply curiosity, creativity so natural
That the only crazy you’ll know is the casual
Life of hum and then drum and our casket;
Like apples filling an empty basket
What happy hopes, what a bountiful dream
Yet only emptied to fill up again
With disappointment, soon with dread
As you find those apples they always lead
To a hunger, for more, and then more,
Then you’re dead.
Most end up quenching desires of the surface,
But never reach further to those with a purpose,
So they turn to the fire, their final friend,
Starting over is their only,
And last option...
Again.