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Inferno

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A match strikes flint
and from their union
a being blooms
its delicately formed bud
unfolding to release the monster
which it encased in beauty.
A whirlpool of indigo
succumbs to a tsunami
of orange and yellow petals
enveloping each other
in a deadly embrace.
Writhing tongues of flame
swirl with impossible fluidity
one ravenous maw
with salivating tongues
and greedy lips
devouring everything in reach.
A palpable caress
of seemingly gentle fingers
scorches beyond recognition.
For fire’s blood
sears with passionate heat
and from each and every death
souls leave their hosts
and join the flames.
The inferno grows.

Hell has ascended,
yet there is beauty in destruction.




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