Playing with Fire


Whirl-fire (Photo credit: Loving Earth)

Playing With Fire

Seldom is the story the same.
          Meandered here, but not by chance,
Spectators drawn as moth to flame,
          Drink in the rhythmic dance.

Clad in yellow to mesmerize
          Those psychedelic nerves.
They keep a distance, fantasize,
          While ogling sweet curves.

Gentle sway with the wispy wind
          And burning deep inside.
Those gathered round might have been skinned,
          Had not they kept aside.

For touching here could make them warm,
          But burn them just the same.
This flame brings danger like a storm,
          She’s fire, they’ll never tame.


About ewdupler

Gene is an avid outdoorsman, loves reading and is known to put pen to paper (well, he types) as an amateur poet.
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