Fire. Flame. Maelstrom. Firestorm. Embers. Ash. Phoenix. The fire that is Me. The fire that is misunderstood. The fire that is the essence of my being. The fire in my heart and soul. My spirit that is a raging blaze or softly glowing ember. It is me. It is mine. My Fire. My Spark. My Vitality.
Embers, covered in ash, that seem cold and dead. But a wisp of tinder, a breath of wind and I burst to life. Lively flames leaping and surging. The tinder burns hot and fast. The flames dwindle, but prove the spark is alive. Vibrant. At times, it is far more than tinder that ignites. I become a conflagration. Flames burning hot and hard. Leaping to the sky. Sparks crackling and raining down, fiery hail. Sometimes all consuming, destructive if not for self-imposed fire-breaks. The flames leap and dance. Bright. Hot. Hungry. Dangerous. Alluring. Hypnotic. I feel the edge of danger. I know the damage of fire. But I know the vital heat. To live within the vortex is exhausting yet exhilarating. To live with me is to know the vortex, embrace it, feel the heat, the radiance, the warmth, the exhiliration. The Fire that is Me radiates energy, warmth, life, passion. I may singe, but never destroy.
I am a flaming whirlwind. I am a gentle heat. I am the firestorm. I am the warm hearth. My heart is an undying ember, kept sheltered and ever bright. Protected from those who would douse the flame out of fear or envy. Protected, nurtured, tended. The ember awaiting the tinder and breath of wind.
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