World of Flame (A Poem)

The ceiling has turned to lava
I look up, gleeful, and laugh.
It puckers in spots, bulbs dangling
They drop and burn the floor in half.

I continue to laugh as I look about
The floor has given way to
a vast ocean of fire and I'm
perched atop a boulder, watching it spew.

I should be hot, burning up
But I'm pleasantly chilly, a paradox
so strange I begin to sing a tune
and find a trinket in my hand, a box.

What is this? A lighter, how strange
A utensil that creates fire;
In a world engulfed in flame
My laugh returns as I climb higher.

Birds fly overhead, so close to the lava
I wonder how they yet live.
I squint and see it's just the dense smoke
swirling as wings on the wind and don't give.

Lighter in hand, I jar it with my thumb
A flame bursts forth like a blade.
I feel the metal begin to burn
But in the face of it, I'm not afraid.

What kind of world am I in now?
A world that is real, and yet not.
The ceiling transformed, the floor gave way;
Now I'm really beginning to feel hot.

Copyright 2014 by Erin M. Truesdale