The Burnt Out Ends

Microcosmic smoke and sparks
Fly up the chimney to the stars
Whose searing heat I’ll never feel,
This nearer fire is where I kneel

As if in worship by these flames
To feel the primal warmth again
And the wildness, uncontrolled,
The random crackle of the coals,

So unbecoming in these days
When in chaos order’s claimed,
Yet winds may blow where they will,
A consciousness that’s never still.

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