Playing With Fire Poem by Robert L. Bixler III

“Be careful when you play with fire” they say,
But if you never open yourself enough to burn;
Then you will never feel that encompassing day.
If you never get singed, you can never learn
How that perfect fire feels, the warmth that surrounds.

Building walls to surround and enclose only suffocates.
Digging deep fire pits only turns the ground uneven.
By attempting to avoid the burns completely, one abates
The realization, the perfect moment that could have been.
Without barriers and an open mind, the possibility abounds.

I spent a year digging the pit and laying the sand,
Building the enclosures for that perfect bonfire.
I found the sweetest hickory and maple logs on hand,
Lining them with vanilla and sage kindling, an air of desire.
All I lacked was that perfect reason to the let the fire resound.

After freezing in failed attempts and frigid nights alone,
I finally found that perfect reason to set the kindle a’ light.
Immediately the kindle sparked to life, the desire quickly a’ tone.
The chemistry between the cold air, desiring kindle and beautiful sight
Set the quickening, wild pace; the blazing fire completely unbound.


I stood a’ gasped as the flames encircled and consumed with passion.
I could feel the warmth to my core and the longing for connection.
Never for a second did my thoughts wander to the future, so ashen.
The fire simply singed me softly and warmed with loving affection
As immediately my walls were burnt, my heart thawed, my fire found.

After another amazing night, I ventured out into the world
Only to return to have found the fire overcome itself with passion.
I could still feel the last residual, addictive heat from all that unfurled.
I began to wonder if I could have sustained the fire, maybe on a ration.
But alas, I had done all to my best; I enjoyed it all this time around.

For the first time, I could gladly say it was completely worth the burn.
The chance to feel alive and to feel the fire blazing in me
Was the greatest gift that my fire, my friend, could ever return.
Though I would have kept the fire ablazed, a shared jubilee,
I shall enjoy the time, the passion, the flame with zealous renown.

“Be careful when you play with fire, ” they say.
As the sand I had laid as barriers turned from cold, coarse
Resolve into radiant, fragile, beautiful glass heart stay,
I argue that one should play with fire without remorse.
Even in the ashes, after the worst burn, a single ember remains.