Burnt

I, dressed in black,
skipped across the dance floor,
swerving, weaving
through the crowded ball;
unfixed I was,
without a leash;
skipping from orange to peach
but yet,
all my glorious conquests
did seem a little meek.

until my light feet, were swept
inexplicably,
perhaps by slight breeze I was drawn
undoubtedly
to the end of that hall,
to the final reward.

her warmth,
grew most rapidly
and soon enough
the whole hall was
in mystery
of this wonder,
this glory,
now before me.

upon the white stage,
she danced to enthral
her dress caressed us all;
but in my heart I knew,
oh I knew,
she was my all.

and in
what was perhaps
pure foolish absurdity,
I ran to her feet
and called her my queen.

but in the midst of everything
I forgot to realise,
that I was but a pest,
and she pure light.

she scarred me with shame
and I was left afraid,
as a fly
taught never,
ever
to get too close
to a flame.

- by Paul Immanuel (Thambu)