Like hallowed sounds and voices lost
In silent, seething ire.
Wither to reel back of accost,
This wild and raging fire?
Caught between not knowing if
The flames a bitter cold
Or if i took a look beneath
I'd find it hard as gold.
What to do then, I know not
Once quaint, now void of charm:
Creeping closer, burning hot,
Orange licks my palm.
Swelling, eager, yet not as strong
As my heart and faith could lead;
Compelling force could wreck my song
And leave me here to bleed.
And so I turn to look away;
Pray Jove keep the fiend at bay.
Tiffanie Lein
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fury-7/
