A slender body, a slim figure,
big headed, rash, and burning cinder.
Time zips past with plastic and vapor,
replacing traditions, norms and amber.
Traditionalists hold true to their wind,
through wars, through thick and thin.
When choosing your namesake flame,
it takes two to flick the flint.
Others observe that the end result is the
same,
but you know the journey decides the game.
Soothing and warm without much doubt,
realizing something you can’t live without.
From the resulting gas and wood,
a spark appears and magic follows suit.
Graduating into a small fire,
rapidly expanding wider and higher.
Burning through the night,
visibly noticeable from far sight.
Wind and breezes can be swat around,
but what to do when it hits the ground?
Before you burn your fingers,
best let go than let linger,
Despite how much we loved the heat,
We have run out of fuel to feed.
= DNPY
=
7.30 p.m.
7/12/2009
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