A Raging Fire

‘ If you listen close you’ll hear the sound

Of all the ghosts that bring us down.

Hold on to what makes you feel.

Don’t let go,

It’s what makes you real.’

-Phillip Phillips (Raging Fire)

          That raging fire that lights up your soul like a canister of fireworks-

Feel it. 

Embrace it.

That flame that dances in your eyes is one of the most beautiful sights in this world.

Why?

Simply, because the flame in your eyes may very well be the hope reflected in someone else’s.

He’s looking down from the top of the skyscraper, his fingers folded atop the railing as he leans his weight against the bar.  

His eyes are lit up in amusement as he watches people passing by, completely unaware to the world that continues to go on around them.

He smiles, the crimson hue of the setting sun casting a fiery orange on the lip of his iris.

‘A fire always burns brighter in the dark.’

But what if life is a large crackling flame spitting out scorching rays of scarlet that burn your skin until the heat is too much to take.

The wind that washes over your skin is now a relief rather than the reason that the flame has turned into oblivion, isn’t it?

But maybe that’s what makes life so special.

You survive because the fire on the inside burns so much brighter than the fire that surrounds you.

That spark that envelops your being in a frenzy of orange fury is nothing if not embedded on the inside of your soul.

The raging fire comes from you.

Not your surroundings.

‘There’s something intriguing about watching life go by as no one bothers paying it any heed,’ he thinks to himself, pulling out a couple of little paper parachutes attached to small notes with a few words scrawled across them.

He takes a step closer to the edge and takes a deep breath, allowing the gusts of wind surrounding his very being to touch the fire that surrounds his soul.

There’s a slight hesitation as he feels the flame teeter in existence.  But then, with a last confident flurry, the paper parachutes are thrown over the edge and falling into the streets below.

 That skyscraper that towers over you is not as ominous as it seems from the ground.

 Why not stand at the top and look down? 

 I’ve heard the view is better from above.

Eyes scan the skyline, watching in awe as beautiful white fills the sky, drifting down towards the ground.  

Little arms reach up to grasp at the wondrous art that floats elegantly across the heavens, the elderly rubbing their eyes, mouths agape in amazement. 

People, once busy looking down, now look up.  

Small smiles that once held no flame are now letting out sparks.

There was a fire there, just waiting to be kindled.

Now, it burns bright. 

Remember that song that keeps you humming all day long because it just won’t get out of your head?

Why not sing it out loud and let the world hear the song that makes your heart flutter with joy?

Why not dance to your own music?

Paint the world through your own eyes?

You make your own boundaries, don’t you?

Why diminish your flame, when you can use it to illuminate the world around you?

She stands there waiting at the bus stop, her fingers folded atop the railing as she leans her weight against the bar.

Her hands grip a note connected to a paper parachute dangling from her fingers.

It reads:

‘I can see your flame from here,

It’s bright, beautiful and downright blinding.

It would even put the Devil to shame.

And yet, you still walk around as though a pile of water,

Always going with the flow-placid and neutral.

But what about that fire that I see inside, attempting with all its might to break through the surface?

Don’t fear the flame.

Embrace the flame.

That dragon breathing in your chest is meant to be heard.

Those people who think that you are weak,

Are wrong.

That red and gold in your iris,

Should lick up the rest of their doubts.

Let your fire burn bright in this dark, dark world,

Filled with beings who believe that putting that spark out is the new norm.

You are not the harbor of the flame.

You ARE THE FLAME.

It’s bright, beautiful and downright blinding.

I can see your fire from here.’

Her eyes light up, a spark flashing in their dark confines.  

She smiles, closing her eyes.

‘The flame always burns brighter in the dark,’ she thinks, staring into the black that now surrounds her.

This day will be what you make it.  

So rise like the sun,

And burn.