Little Flame

Each morning when I wake
so to does that little flame within.
Fluttering and whispering,
of magic and love and uncertainty.

And as the day rolls on
the little flame, it grows.
It sputters and sparks, gently finding it's way
through every crevice of my blood-soaked heart.

Winding and turning the flame licks farther,
touching my mind with its scorching boughs.
Reminding me of you and your gentle ways,
reminding me of you and your warmth.

Even while this ice storm howls,
my soul knows no biting cold.
The flame consumes me, envelopes me,
holding me close and lingering on, lingering even in the dark.

It whispers softly into my ear,
all the things I need to hear.
It frolics frivolously through my veins.
It sends shivers up my spine and bumps along my arms.

I've lost all hope of extinguishing this fiery source of excitement
It has proven far to strong, far to determined
to be put out by conventional ways.
It is truly like nothing I have ever known before.

What do they call this phenomenon?
This burning up from within?
This unexplainable joy and anticipation?
What is it, that I might master it's curves and edges!

I feel it when I wake,
I feel it when I sleep.
I feel it in the winter,
even then I feel it's clever heat.

Will it go away?
Will the flames leave my heart charred and black?
Will the glow from its tongue leave my eyes?
I do not need to know, for I will not be afraid.

Little flame, may the wind make you blossom.
Little flame, may your glow be ever present.
Little flame, you're starting to take me captive.
Little flame, you just might set my whole life ablaze.