It Burns

 

Do I have any more to

Say? There should

Be something every day, though

If I worry, nothing might be

Realized

 

But to empty all would then,

Well, to be empty

 

Inspiration, what is that?

A light, a spark,

An ember from an ancient fire,

Spirit from an epic-writer

 

Does the fire

Burn through all the ages?

Do we have a trust,

A pledge,

To carry heated parts to the next

Fire outside the house, having

Warmed ourselves

Once more?

 

What is there in

The torch that borrows from

The center of the Earth?

If hell is frozen, it is heaven

That burns

Alive without consuming,

Like the bush and then the pillar

Saving Israel

Then lighting up the faces

In the temple priests affirming

All the creeds

In the presence of the holy

 

And in a later age, carried off in battle:

So where is it now?

In pockets of the saints

To keep them warm

Inside a cell

For living

Or for execution

 

And to our time it goes,

The coal for inspiration, then

To the future, though

For now

We’ll keep it here—we

Need the fire to heat up

Our reason and the craft,

All come together

For a season and then quietly,

Still glowing,

To the next

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by M.T ElGassier on Unsplash

Tripoli, Libya

cold winter night