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The Fire

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If things could be a simple as that night by the campfire five years ago.
I sat and stared into its depths, and watched the logs crumble.
The ash built up on the coals, which glowed red, like a light shining through a grey blanket.
And let the peace, the tranquility of the entire scene take me away.
Yet then the fire was doused, and the coals no longer glowed,
yet steamed viciously, the tendrils of evaporated moisture swirling into the air,
and with it, the crushing sense of time and place.
But still, I wish, I dream and I hope to one day achieve that same feeling, that sense of tranquility as on that camp out by the fire.




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