The first poem was written by my late father and rediscovered a decade later amongst his things. I didn’t know he was a poet before finding his old work, and I decided to write companion pieces for much of his work to bring it to life even after he is no longer with us. The second piece was my companion piece, to reinterpret his idea into the context of my own life and writing.
Man Without Fire
I am a man without fire.
Damp, smoldering smoke,
Clinging to cracked ice,
In desolate winter.
I wait for rescue from
Black water encroaching
From etched lines of ruin.
I am full of doubt and rain.
Isolate and still,
My frozen figure,
Crawling to your shore.
You are my refuge,
For I am cold and without light.
I seek warmth and forgiveness,
A shivering stranger,
Seeking your shelter
From nights cold and windless,
Under icy stars burning,
Without heat or tenderness.
A lonely pilgrim,
My hand seeks your heart.
Upon your breast,
I feel your life and warmth,
Your flame fills me,
From hand to heart,
And I am joined to you.
You are my fire,
My sun, my life and my light.
I am warm.
Creature Without Fire
I am a creature without fire,
Confiscated by the gods,
I tremble in
the cold moonlight.
Swimming in black water,
A desolate December night.
Tortured by
my own naivety,
A mind of cold marble and
Thoughts of broken glass
I shiver against
the unforgiving waves,
Clawing desperately
at salvation.
Your figure draws closer,
A halo against
the blackened sky.
My personal Prometheus, Torch
of stolen blessings in hand. You
scoop me
from the rapids,
teasing my clumsy manner
with your gentle tongue.
I climb into your arms,
Cradle of divine creation.
Comfort seeps
into my bones.
Your hot breath
warms my soul,
Yet your mystery
envelops me.
Seductive and serene,
Like the silver moon,
Watching over us both.
Kay Denmead, ’24