The Fire

When the fire in your heart cannot stop, cannot start but to flame all the folly you’ve conjured apart from the glory of peace in its thunderous roar and its pounding of waves on its silent shores

When the shadows you’d painted have cracked to the core all the canvases broken in heaps on the floor and the fire tears through them and rids them of form and the anger you’d felt is released and transformed

And the world that you see is a phoenix, a dawn, that rises from ashes, remoulded, re-born, but by hands that are sacred and know how to heal, by a mind that’s awakened and knows how to feel from the depths of its heart an infinite joy that creates in the wake of the love it employs

When the fire in your heart cannot stop, cannot rise, but to purge all the memories you’d deigned to baptise but will gratefully offer up to take their part as they whisper the seeds of a glorious new start

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