I look upon the light as if this was my first dip into the spectrum, as if I am a person crying because they are colorblind, seeing a sunset in its new found glory.
Fire has been prevalent in my life since I was a babe, and yet I cannot tear my eyes away from this heavenly glow that seems to emit from my fingertips.
Why does this little burst of radiance fill me up with warmth like no bonfire ever has?
Is this what a god feels like as they look upon existence from their high pedestal?
To see it throughout time, and yet it still has the capacity to surprise and excite, potentially even harm.
I feel the fumes of the embers rush through me,
but I am not scared,
for I can feel my inner tension relax as I let the spirit of the flames wash over me.
Slumping back in my chair, feeling every fiber of the material, hearing all the insects of the night, and I know in my heart that I am one with the world.
As my eyes shut, that image of the burning tip between my fingers stays perfectly in my sight.
I feel as though my mind will never be rid of that flame again, I am destined to keep it alive, as if an Olympian of old.
The tension ebbs away from my fingertips, however I have no fear of dropping this burning Grail, to do so would go against my very nature, more so then a lion swimming in the ocean.
No my only fear is the inevitable end, when the happiness and joy are over,
for all embers turn to ash.
... "I told you smoking a joint on acid would be fucking bananas"