Fingertips touching, never leaving, they dance.
Embers glowing, wind blowing, they move.
Hair whipping, voices crackling, they sing.
Fire curling, stars fading, they twirl.
Calling for the flames to grow…
Round the circle ringed with stones…
Towering bonfire casting shadows…shifting…
Faces alight, flickering rust and gold…features rearranging…
They are ancient. Forgotten. Lifeless.
They are born. Pulsing. Alive.
On the damp beach,
atop the cliff,
in the forest,
They are everywhere and nowhere. They are here.
Fallen angels. Cast out.
They absorb this world. Theirs now.
Blessed innocence laced with fragmented memories.
They will destroy. It is in their blood. It is in their subconscious.
They are human.
My attempt for #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent
I’ve edited a previous flash, Home Fire, to change the meaning. Hope it works but, still, fun. Try out Sue’s prompt.