Categories
Faith crisis poetry

The Dying Fire

  1. Humming bees, singing birds, the sun high in the sky.
  2. A burning fire, deep and old, within the heart did lie.
  3. A sojourn in the desert land, maturing of a rose.
  4. Returning home, out again, the grassland he had chose.
  5. There he planted, firm and sure, growing as an oak.
  6. Some bending here and swaying there, but not even once had broke.
  7. Then to the mount to seek the light, one day he felt to try.
  8. He made the climb, found the light, descended, said goodbye.
  9. But then, a flash! He buckled down: smitten, beaten, sore.
  10. He gasped for breath—bruised, in pain—and begged from on the floor.
  11. No one came, no helping hand—just abandoned and alone.
  12. And there he sat, for weeks and months, forgotten, as a stone.
  13. No humming bees. No singing birds. No light to linger on.
  14. Just fire, soap, chaff, and dross. The pearl, in darkness, gone.

 

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By Kim Siever

I live in Lethbridge with my spouse and 5 of our 6 children. I’m a writer, focusing on political news, social issues, and the occasional poem. My politics are radically left. I recently finished writing a book debunking several capitalism myths. My newest book writing project is on the labour history of Lethbridge.

I’m also dichotomally Mormon. And I’m a functional vegetarian: I have a blog post about that somewhere around here. My pronouns are he/him, and I’m queer.

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