A Magazine of Many Arts

He sits in limbo

waiting for the next summoning

licking at the scars of being

forever left behind,

clawing at the hate

of his intangible

but ever hungering form.

Until

in a flash

he is called.

As lightning he appears above

to race down through the beings below.

By twos and threes he consumes them

by his merest touch

by his slightest breath,

until he stands alone

even here

on this most fecund world.

With one more racing whirl

he is gone back home

once more in limbo,

where he piles the unburnable trinkets

of those frail creatures

that whither in his presence.

He covets these reminders

of those who can stand

the touch of their own,

of those who keep full company.

For even these remains

of those damned & blessed beings

fuel the anger

he strives to keep,

for he must stay burning bright & hot

to earn each quick release

from his solitude.

About Polu Texni