Our love of fire is from of old,
A need from days gone by.
Ere since our feet from Eden stepped,
The fiery sword our sign.
The fire our sign of what we’ve lost:
The garden’s warmth no more.
The sword our sign of what we’ve gained:
Of blood, of lust, of war.
The fire’s center looks behind
To love, to life, to light.
The same does also look ahead
To rot, to death, to night.
Until we all through fire do pass,
Like rocks turned into gold,
The flaming sword shall bar our way
To comfort from of old.
Facebook reminded me of this poem I wrote three years ago.