The Fire

A small spark sets it off,
A small stick helps it grow.
A large branch is conquered ,
The embers start to glow.

It begins to spread,
Taking on a life of its own.
It tramples everything in its path,
Except the cold stone.

Growing in intensity,
It roars through the night.
The crackling flames,
Give off a ruddy, orange light.

It proceeds through the forest,
At an alarming speed.
The woodland critters flee,
Trying to outrun the fiery steed.

It presses on,
A whirling tornado of heat.
Unopposed, unrivaled except by one,
Only water it cannot defeat.

Water is scarce,
So it presses on.
Caring not what it consumes,
It devours all; an evil spawn.

Spinning along,
The whirlwind meets its match.
Upon the sheer cliff,
It cannot make a scratch.

It roars in agony,
And tries to scout.
But, alas,
There is no alternate route.

The fuel begins to dwindle,
The flames start to die down.
The tyrant of the forest,
Has lost his crown.

Some embers survive,
In a hidden cache,
But they are drowned,
In a sea of black ash.

&copy Joshua Bryant Cole