For all my lack of forward thrust
And issues with desire,
Beneath my frozen outer crust
There burns a raging fire.

The world construes my solemn mien
As if a loved one’s died,
And yet it’s but a flimsy screen
Which covers what’s inside.

I sizzle like a lava flow
And sputter like a torch,
Yet none I meet would ever know
That I was born to scorch.

Yet, at the tip of every flame,
There shines a sun which knows my name.

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

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