the Fire from Within

November 15, 2010
By JenMikalaEngel SILVER, FOster City, California
JenMikalaEngel SILVER, FOster City, California
5 articles 0 photos 21 comments

The voices speak.
I hear them all the time.
They cry out from inside.
They hate me,
But they need me.
They can’t stay away.

I don’t know who they are or where they are from,
But I know they are there, hiding somewhere, somewhere
For the right moment
To come out when I’m alone
Or when it’s Dark at night
And whisper to me, cry to me, confide in me.

They want to control me, they want to destroy me.
But I still pity them.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I know they cannot help it.
Maybe I know that they are lost and alone,
Their dice have been thrown
When they weren’t watching
And unnoticed the playthings skidded off the board
For trivial things are not missed before they are lost.

But why me?

I think I know- my life is perfect.
Everything. Nothing is wrong.
They themselves pity the poor and the weak,
And prey on the ones… the ones like me.
They are the reason for my insomnia.
But I can’t push them away.

But they pull up my mistakes
Deep from in my memory
They push up what’s been forgotten
And there’s the pain, from the start.
It’s like having the tip of the arrow against my chest,
Quivering with my beating heart,
And the arrow jostles slightly,
Wrenches it in two,
Why won’t they go away?
They refuse to let me know why, the truth.

They love to torture me.
Maybe they know their path is hopeless.
Maybe they want to inflict pain on another.
They are rather sadistic and cruel.
They can sense when I am weak or angry,
They use me. I am a tool to hurt others.
Do I imagine it? Is it just a fool’s reality?
Am I living in a fantasy?
Who are they?

I need to know.
I want to help them.
It surrounds their minds
Something has happened to them.
Something they refuse to remember.
Perhaps they take my memories to replace with their own?

Two are together.
One stands apart.
The Fourth is so often forgotten, the poor thing.
Like the Fourth leaf of a clover,
It is gloried over,
Then ignored, intertwined, and left behind.

They live in me- I feel them breathe
I hear them- no one knows
Why they won’t go

Then I hear their voice-
In the night, cries of joy-
Right before the hallucinations of horror,
Terrorizing, threatening, they leer at me
They have no form
That I can see.
But I know them, I know how they are.

They scoff at friendship, and pretend to pity the living.
But I know.
Yes, I know
What surrounds their wretched souls.


The fire inside.
It twists.
It turns.
It moans with agony.
It cries with joy.
It’s hidden in deep, and it refuses to subside.

It is a monster, a vile thing within
It won’t be controlled
Nothing I do can stop it.

With a flash of red, orange, and gold
Tinged with a faint white-blue
It lashes out at the victim
The rust-colored blood, it pours out fast
I turn away, but the revolted feeling lasts

What have I done?
I kneel and cry
I pray.
Please, Lord, don’t let this be me.
Don’t let this fire, this beast
Turn me into something I’m not.

He listens. He thinks.
But an Eon to me is a second to He.
He chooses.
I must learn it, I must fight it.
But when you fight fire with fire,
You get the inferno of Hell.
If you fight fire with ice,
You get a puddle of diseased water.
If you fight fire with earth-
You die.

What am I supposed to do?
Can I tame it?
But if it’s docile, I’ll begin to love it.
And if I love it, how do I destroy it?

It hisses and sputters as I write these very words
It knows, and it hates you, for reading this.
I’m sorry that it has cursed you.
But I can’t do anything about it.
Unless I die.
A peaceful death under yonder clouds, in the water
Surrounded by nature, my real joy in the life

But if I die, where will I go?
To some unknown place where my plants do not grow?
I cannot let that happen.
Oh no, I will not.

I must face this fire.
For otherwise it will consume me,
It will rule me,
My freedom gone.
It cannot end
This way

It’s hurting me its hurting me it hurts so badly
I close my eyes and grimace.
“You don’t rule me,” I think.
“A wise man once said, ‘give me liberty or give me death.’
And I am not Afraid.”
The stars and spots of light that paint
The Emptyness of my inner lid
But nevertheless.
Until they are gone.

It’s one small battle, nothing major
I still haven’t won the war.
But I’m getting there, closer, closer
I cannot fight
But I can resist.
It will leave.
I will it to be so.


Warm and fuzzy and bright
It glows all over, tingling, tickling,

The scent of dewdrops fallen as night,
The Pitter-Patter of rain, falling, falling,

A meadow lush with Marigolds,
A sparkling river filled with trout

An old man filled with tales of old,
The feeling, here, there, all about.

True there are voices
And sorrow, fire, and death.

But think of all the sounds, sights, smells, noises,
And every living breath.

To be alive again! to wake back up, from where you’ve been
Coming out from Wonderland,

Back into real life again!
No more Alice, no more Queen,
O, what it is like to be free!

My mind is now able to roam,
Through the forests, hills, and plains,

Never again to worry that I’ll never come home,
O, to be released from this pain!

This happiness and joy has overtaken me,
In His grace, His Sacrifice,

He has saved me!
I am now back, undisturbed, ready to live my life.

To love my nature
And to take joy in everything that I have,
And I’ll be forever sure,
I’ll never walk again on that terrible path-
The detour is never the right way,
So now on Earth, I am here to stay.

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This article has 2 comments.

on Dec. 8 2010 at 10:13 pm
JenMikalaEngel SILVER, FOster City, California
5 articles 0 photos 21 comments

Thanks for the feedback!!

Yeah, the reason that it's so long is that it's actually 3 poems mashed up into one "mini-series" sort of thing. 

I'll work on transitioning and figurative language some more, and try to cut out the unnecessary parts!


on Dec. 8 2010 at 9:56 pm
sweetly_broken GOLD, Garner, North Carolina
15 articles 0 photos 158 comments

Favorite Quote:
We never know how big we are until we are asked to rise.

The good: I really, really like the idea and there were some really good and metaphoric lines. The end was very well laid out.

The bad: While some parts of the poem flowed well, others didn't. It was also very,very long and dragged on in some places. The figurative language was kind of thrown in in some places and more of it would have been helpful. I would suggest shortening it up quite a bit, which i don't know if i'm the best person to tell you, since my poems are kind of long.

Overall, well done. As for ratings I'd give it a 3.5 and round up 2 4.

~ Kirby


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