There, my antonymous readers, if there are any, have a bit more of me.

Still here,

Nathan

Flaming Pen Scratches

Let it be known that within humans there are three Flames. Each of these varies in intensity and decree for every individual, but all three are present in everyone -- for everyone is born of the same. They are: Love, Anger and Shame. The latter two of the three are closely related and often enact on one another. They, Anger and Shame, hold very close to their principles -- they spark, spread and consume and do so for destruction's end. Let us not leave the first unnamed and unidentified, for it to must be properly cautioned against with its own warnings. Although Love can go against fire’s innate principles, snuffing out its relational flames, it too can burn, spread and destroy. Some might even say that it does so more ruthlessly than the others. Of the three, Love, the fastest and perhaps the most intense, is the one most shown while the others are usually concealed. But one must remember that even though they are not seen they are still smoldering beneath the surface. Today, I only deal with one. The others are present, mind you, but into the air, I only let one.

1

Burn the Cinder

It starts with only a spark,

A simple look or action or even memory:

Any remanence or thought charged with a reminder of

Mistake or mishap, personal or societal.

First it must come,

Maybe by a suggested means or another one neglected.

Something you thought stamped out; you thought you were over it;

Why are you remembering?

You doused it with forgiveness or forgetfulness, it should be gone, yet it's not.

It burns Still,

As a small ember just waiting for fuel -- one screw-up, one trip, one slip of tongue or surfaced thought, unchecked. Fate need only neglect you for an instant

And that spark will have its fuel to burn and build on itself.

You can feel it in you, building, mounting; it's a wonder your skin does not serve as a wax! The temperature is rising and your reserve is breaking:

You cannot handle this new range, higher degree. Things will be harder at this level and this hardship will only make it worse.

You take in the air praying that it will call it back, perhaps bring it back to a cinder -- quieted once more if only for a while.

Observers must not see the flame within thee;

Are you man or beast?

The answer is the root of this horror by reckoning of Twain.

You remember, even amongst the burning and consuming flame no one feels but you; You must hold the fire in,

Beseeching the forces to quell it or else it may consume from inward out –

Maybe taking standarders-by with you!

It is okay this time,

The forces took heed to your cry and you remember that they are just words;

The past is no longer. Or you call upon a certain other flame to snuff the other

Or at least press it down. It is not gone-- most people say it cannot be.

Some might even say it is there to keep balance within.

I say:

Burn the cinder, burn it through.

Suppressing will not do, you must burn the cinder, burn it through,

Let the fire run its course consuming all fuels and forgotten fumes,

Let not but ashes remain.

This advice is dangerous, that much is true. But if you let the fire burn itself through

There will not be an amber or cinder to rekindle you;

So, I'm telling you

Burn the cinder, burn it through.

When there is no more fire to be displayed on the face or hidden to smolder behind;

You will be in a new realm of grace.

Some say this is not natural nor is it possible.

I say to you,

You must try, you must attempt to

Burn the cinder, burn it through

. If you do this and succeed in burning it through;

Then your own fire will no longer, never again, burn you!

©Keener2006

Lost Potential

Standing out in a field of all things living, I quickly take in what is before me but the eye cannot take in so much so quickly. I step here, I go there, casting seeds, those bits of insignificance, halfheartedly not knowing where they land but sure they will fall somewhere. It is sad, and most did not take to their supplied environment--it was ,I'm ashamed to say, far too "cool". Others developed poorly and are dying or dead. I should've taken the time to plant them so much more carefully, I should've taken the time with each one I wanted to reap from. It is too late, having no root they have long since scattered skyward with the wind and I have nothing to show, foolish caretaker. Alas!

The Coming Light

My friend I wonder about the world as a whole, what will come born new from old? Shadows cycle, nothing seems to change,but that is not true. When darkness fell change did come through. Some of the forces will better me and others will take me down to sneer and frown. But take heart, I tell myself, the new light that will come will allay the shadows that have hung about from a day previously done. Caution to myself: that same light that washes away the shadows of yesterday, may take away, more then I ask it to; revealing me to myself as others see. In the mirror of light I see more lines than I thought were there. Lines that I etched by undue courses taken. What I must remember is: memories will fade, as shadows do, in the beginning of day. Pages will turn, and ink may run and fallaway but Time and the powers at be will not forget, forget me. It is for the aid of people, I do scribe but not just for them but for me too. Perhaps if I write something, just a small bit, it may be deemed fit to land in the right hands, and I shall not be wholly destroyed and forgotten by man -- this is why I write. Through character I preserve, myself,even in this I reside in part.

So, my inner soul, my imagination and ponderous heart are now appeased. With intrinsic forces satisfied I can move back to this stuff that I truly decry.