I just published a prose poem on the fire element. Please read.
Fire introduced himself as the fuel for survival and a slow killer. I thought thinking of his slow burns made my teeth chatter not realizing the cold surrounding was the chill of fear. I admired his trickster ways and wanted to learn from him, while I hid in the cold without knowing why.
When we met, I learned he and I were bipolar. The closer you get, the more you realize our true power. That scares people. Hell, it scared me. I was so afraid, I feared everything I touched when he proudly burned inside me, the purification singeing away the conditioning that convinced me he wasn’t safe. I wasn’t sure if this conditioning was my fault or if my psyche was programmed to never know the word “bravery”, but only saw its definition when he burned brightly in other souls and I obeyed my conditioning to see him as a sin I should never touch.