Fire to her was a funny spectacle
A plaything she could not resist to fiddle with.
As if it were a deep riddle,
Candles and lamps were her play and puzzle.
A juvenile with a matchstick in hand,
The power she had to start fire on command.
Setting fire to the hay, enchanted she was by this psychedelic display.
Indigo and ember entwined in glory, ascending in obsidian fury
To sky they made way.
” This is no child’s play!”
Family and village folks’ stern reprimand,
Did not stop her to wish for fire in hand.
Several years later, bonfire night in Taiga.
Skies enrobing auroral spectra.
Flicker in the pyre, tonight she feels something will transpire.
Voices and visions in the blue light of fire, “come hither….” they whisper.
Schoolmates and tutors around her, have all now seemed to disappear.
Trio of towering women behind the burning pyre, one strokes an orb of fire, as if to lure.
Probing to see if she can endure.
“we are from a star afar,
With us you will come for we need your service”
Confused she screams “are you thoughtless?
An orb of fire they offer her to hold,
Dancing luminous hues, lo and behold!
“In our land, fire you will foster,
Our bare canopies and icicles will glisten in warm glimmer
To you we render Pyropower”.
Triggers: Pneuma by Tool