Sound of Fire

On a mound atop a sandy land

Away from the eyes of the crows

A Nomad sat, huddled in a shawl

And held a gentle fire close

Crackling embers incandescent

Like a throbbing heart they burnt

The impassioned wood illuminated

As its splinters turned to soot

He wrapped his shawl tighter

The chill freezing his toes

While the clement fire simpered

At the unhurried balmy smoke

The tenor of the flames

The tinder snapping its fingers

The tender warmth lost amidst

The waltz of the smoke and timber

Wanting more fever, the Nomad

Encaged the pyre in glass

The unheeding careless flutter

Once agog, now aghast

The chunk of wood suffocating

Embers ruined to ash

The flames banging the walls around

A peal, a thunder, a clash

Indignant, she sputtered

As the pilgrim warmed his hands

She bellowed across the prison

Her wail dispersed on the sands

The man sat indifferent

As the delicate cage shivered

It fractured, split, exploded

The inferno raged and seared

The dainty crackling spun

Into a ferocious scream

A ruinous picture blistering

Where once was a placid dream