Flames Poem by dimitrios galanis

Ι do often remember those flames
crazing in playful cracking laugh,
to whistle, fizzle and quarrel,
in threatening talks with each other, complot
arround there at the fireplace,
being our company on wintry chilly evenings late
back then when still innocent small children we were.
Fiery rushing jets persistantly aggressive,
glutton tongues, chatty Vampires ablaze
by our blowing chased
left and right carrying the blaze,
attacking on brushwoods first,
burning off crackling dry branchlets, twigs,
to go on against seared logs in voracious whirls,
in leaping, lapping and licking vehemence.

Ooh! How did we like flames!

Shed light on cold faces, made warm little icy hands
when they rushed to set fire on woodbuilt castles
and turned gates and battlements into debris aflame and ash.
Scarlet, yellow, green, cyan-blue
distended, billowd, swelled,
manacing at any time a sudden outbreak.
Galaxies glittering were their sparks
expanded in bursts, wonder to eyes of lads.
On the walls real giants the affrighting shadows,
scarecrow moving accross corners, roof and floor,
figures fleshless seek and hide playing on our backs.
Ears of hares standing up, tails of weasels to and fro,
mouths of dogs and wolves gapping ready to bite,
projected hunting scenes to walls by our fingers intertwined.

How, how fancy to our eyes seemed those flames!

But seeing them languished, effaced, wiped out,
declined, extinguished no more flaring up,
ember, cinder the wood, melting in ashes grey,
in despair and silence was drawn th' inference
that for all things in the world
sometime it is time where there comes an end
to miracles gleaming.... in joy fair.