Through empty black eyes,
they watched on.
Shadowy, hooded figures,
whose limbs leaked with the smoke of clouded opinion.
Standing as tall as the trees around,
dark, circling a blazing fire.
Together they could almost present an image,
or at least different versions of the same dread.
Their thoughts were too numerous,
too melancholic, too paranoid,
yet fluid and clever,
as the fire’s narrative unfolded.
But what was the point?
The fire, regardless, remained true,
Independent of ego and thought.
They shuffled together, hissing and elbowing each other,
They had been there before.
Creatures of unfortunate habit.
The flames snarled and spat,
yet still, they longed to touch them.
Not for beauty,
they sought to distort what was perhaps once pure.
Only to meddle,
They edged closer, until they were no longer themselves
and reflected the fire’s story.
Their arms reached toward it in unison
and then –
all figures shrank,
and merged into one.
Their trace lingered
in a final gust of obsession, futile thought and lust,
nearly bowling her into said impervious flame.
I must leave here now.
She turned and ran.