The Girl Who Played With Fire Poem by Yekaterina Bezpalaya

There was a girl who played with fire,
Who bit the flame and nicked the pyre,
And strode with barren feet on barren ground,
And never was a fear of singed flesh found.

Long gone were days of grace and pose,
And in their stead was the horrendous noise,
Of love been lost on war-beat land,
A trickling anguish filling her hand.

The tears she bled from crimson eyes,
Spoke little of her heart's demise,
As body took its leave from soul,
Her heart a compass of burning coal.

As burning coal met blood-wet earth,
She found him lying in the dirt,
With limbs askew but lips apart,
Her name escaped with last beat of heart.

The flames grew tall to reclaim their gift,
A robbery of breathe so swift,
Contented soul heaved sigh and fell,
Enveloped though by a fur from hell.

A single smoking tear did fall,
And on her ashes the world lived on,
And in her midst rose a crimson tree,
An emblazoned torch of love set free.