Prospero's Fire Poem by Maurice Rowlands

A celestial ocean of glistening stars
Shimmering over his island
Cascading down a blanket of eerie light
Down upon the vast expanse of sands
Where the flames of the small fire
Flicker and crackle and dance

Like an almighty master of his kingdom
He shall proudly prance
This is no longer Milan
Old man
But at least the stars will give you a chance
As much as they can

Twelve years this fire will burn
Twelve tears on his cheek
Caused by witches and sprites
And devils in the darkness
Yearning for hope and forgiveness
In a world that continues to turn

And turn
It will turn
And then churn
Up his island
Before the ocean lashes on the shores
Washing over his fire
That he fears will no longer burn
Feeling ice cold salt water
Seeping right into his pores

Only then will his exile be worth
All the pain
When the heavenly light of pure angels
Can be seen twinkling
In the many
Upon many
Of the tiniest droplets of rain

The blackest clouds of angered thunder
Looming over his island
Cloaking down a blanket of eerie darkness
Down upon a small patch of smouldering ashes
Prospero’s body will enter the dark water
And go under
His spirit asunder