Crackling embers glow,
Anthony
Serpents dance in twilight’s hush,
Whispers turn to ash.
Ah, but the fire, my friend, it is no simple flicker of light, no mundane dance of embers. It is a bard on a fiery stage, a tempestuous singer in the velvet choir of night! Look closer, let your eyes be washed clean by the molten gold, and see the tales it spins, the secrets it whispers in tongues of flame.
The twilight drapes its dusky shawl upon the world, and in its hushed embrace, the fire awakens. It stretches its fiery limbs, each crackle a drumbeat, each spark a cymbal clash. The logs, once stolid wood, become writhing serpents, their scales of bark kissed by the inferno’s touch. They hiss and sigh, their sap turned to molten tears that drip like rubies into the hungry maw of the flames.
And the colours, oh, the colours! Scarlet banners unfurl against the night’s ebony canvas, saffron pennants flutter in the draft’s capricious hand. Emerald spears pierce the darkness, sapphire whispers in the embers’ glow. It is a kaleidoscope of life, a molten rainbow spilled from the heavens themselves.
The flames, they leap and twist like souls set free, a celestial ballet choreographed by the wild wind. They waltz with shadows, tango with smoke, pirouette in a whirlwind of their own making. They are stallions of fire, maned with smoke, hooves striking sparks upon the stone hearth. They are phoenixes reborn, wings of flame unfurling to paint the night with fleeting brilliance.
But listen, for the fire tells its tale not just in light, but in sound. It crackles and pops, a chorus of whispers and shouts. It roars and sighs, a dragon’s mournful song. It is the lullaby of ancient forests, the drumbeat of the primal heart. It is the music of life, its rhythm etched in the very fabric of existence.
And in the embers’ soft, dying fall, there is a beauty as poignant as the flames themselves. They glow like fallen stars, embers of dreams, whispers of stories half-told. They drift on the wind, a ghostly caravan bound for the shores of dawn.
So let the fire sing its song, let it wash over you, cleanse you, make you one with the primal dance of light and shadow. In its flickering breath, find the echo of your own heart, the spark of your own soul. The fire, it is not just warmth, it is a window to eternity, a glimpse of the ever-burning furnace that keeps the universe alight.
And remember, as you turn away from the dying embers, that the fire lives on within you. It lives in the warmth of your blood, the light in your eyes, the passion in your heart. Let it burn on, my friend, let it illuminate your own path, your own dance in the grand theatre of life.
- Darkness, Power and Beauty
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Anthony's Literary Lens 
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