I have been using writing as a therapeutic tool for many, many years. I recently cleared an upper shelf in my garage and found a box of old writings. Many were clearly just meant to get some thoughts out of my head. But some, a few, were worked pieces that are a clear representation of my feelings at the time. The Burn was written in August of 1988. There had been a massive fire in the Sierra Nevada mountains and the images on the tv touched the troubled spot in my heart that was the relationship I shared with my dad. Fortunately, we were able to repair our relationship before his passing.

A fire burns
And sends a shiver
The passing heat
leaves me
cold and alone

All that was before me
Reduced to smoldering ashes
Barren of shape
or meaning

All that was behind me
Fell to the same fate
Smoke forms a disfigured cloud
And blocks my vision

The forest
once alive and vibrant
Now fallen
Dead and broken

Disillusioned in my disorientation
I wander confused
Cut loose in a world
that is no more

The destruction slowly gives way
to greenery untouched
As I move further from
the hot spot

But the dead remains unburied
The stench hugs my being
Spreading inward
The Keeper of the Flame