Her Fire

water quenches fire.
her dreams are washed away.

dying flames hiss in defeat.
sinking down, the inferno is devoured.

angry tears slip down her face;
her eyelids fall and catch them.

why is she not strong enough?
her fingers stroke flames, but water prevails.

her anger has always fueled her.
she gathers it and lashes out.

still, her flames dissipate.
maybe her heart is not as angry as her mind.

anger is not the answer, water whispers.
her stubbornness holds her back.

her feet are planted in her ashes.
the water cries for alliance!

in her eyes, weakness is water.
if her flames die, if she succumbs, will she too be weak?

oceans rise;
her inferno dies.

the water cries, again.
will you be my friend?

but her anger and loathing is all she has.
how can she let it go? if revenge is her life, will she lose it?

your dreams speak of darkness, water whispers,
this path will lead you to your death.

but, oh, she is weak.
her fire runs on a fuel that will only get her so far.

and as she dies,
the water cries.

won’t you roar your flames for light?
fire cannot not feed on darkness.

fire girl, don’t lose your spark.
come and fight with me tonight.

she’s fought the water for too long,
because she thought it would bring her to ruin.

and it does, in a way;
avengeful means are washed away.

all along, she’s blamed the light
for darkness that entered her life.

forgiveness whispers so bittersweet in her ears;
she turns her face to humble blue eyes.

water and fire collide, strengthened,
hand in hand:

unburnable,
unquenchable,

to the battlefield together.
she learns who the real Enemy is.

anger is not the way to live.
revenge does not bring joy.

forgiveness is a way;
light leads to a better place.

no longer will she hide her face.
now her fire roars for the light.


(Inspired by a novel yet to be published, hopefully in a year or two….)

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Author: Misty

Why hello there. :) I'm Misty, a Christian writer, photographer, and violinist. The most likely places to find me are at the beach or the library, or maybe curled up somewhere clacking away at an old typewriter.

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