The Fire That Burns

A surge is welling up inside me,
I feel a fire,
and it burns.

I write,
and the fire is cooled.

I teach,
and the fire is cooled.

A knot is tied up inside me,
I have to undo it,
help me, Lord.

I compose,
and the fire is cooled.

I profess,
and the fire is cooled.

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poem by Jon McIntosh
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The Hero Entering The Beast's Lair

Standing outside the door,
the hero hears the sound of a monstrous creature taking massive breaths.
But he,
in white robes,
hesitates only to draw his sword.

Onward he marches.
The White Sword shining, almost glowing in his hand,
the breathing now nearly crushing the hero's heart and soul,
yet he continues.

Onward he marches.
The cold stone of the beast's lair slithering with water,
the door opening before him,
the thought of the beast that breathed those breathes plagues the hero's mind.
Still, he presses on.

Onward he marches.
The icy air penetrating his garments,
the door now closing behind him,

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poem by Jon McIntosh
Added by Poetry Lover
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