BECOMING THE FIRE

Photo by Dominic Ebenbichler/Reuters

Photo by Dominic Ebenbichler/Reuters

He ran as if the smell of savage musk had filled his flaring nostrils,

as eyes ablaze he ripped the constant earth with greedy strides.

Ahead, ever-left bending lines traced his path,

Just as the distance, in its accumulation,

Traced ragged lines upon his brow.

Within his realm the muffled , rolling thunder of the crowd

but a nameless demon steed to ride

over the pitiless void,

while the finish stood like a painted harlot luring

him into the fields of desire and pain.

Early on he pressed deeply into the blooded pools of hope

his courage staggered by doubt

when an invisible stitching blade knifed into his side.

Yet the flashing spin of his heels rose once again,

And buff-chested with the dignity of an ermine-robed

Monarch, he cast his eye over the dominion he

Sought to rule once more.

Then off to the front he strode,

accepting, like a birthright, the unsparing challenge

of the sorcering alchemists behind,

Who, in their incantating rhythms, held the capacity to

Turn gold to silver or silver to bronze.

Yet unpalsied by the fear that the clean sweet strides of victory can,

In an instant, turn to ruinous stumbles,

He glided away in fluid freedom,

alone again where the wind was made.

And there, mounting the podium of broken wills,

He knew.

For he had become the fire.

END

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3 thoughts on “BECOMING THE FIRE

  1. Nice piece. Oh the last line that didn’t get posted. Did it read……..

    For he knew the beast was at his heels

    And would not abate his quest.

    The fastest mortal had only to stay one

    striide ahead of the slowest lion for

    the Laws of Nature are unforgiving.

    Just one more step………

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