Fire For These Bones

No earth do I desire
for my eternal cot;
I shall escape the pattering of stones
over crowed face by flame,
that same fire
which lit my spirit and rages,
my desires and thirsts
and made mighty
this tinder box frame.

Wither not my organs
from these bones
like moulded grapes
left forgotten on a vine.
Burn them all
until my brave kidneys
liver, lungs and pretty eyes
become cinders,
jewels amongst the smoke.
There I will rest
charred,
contented as ash...

@Steven Francis poems 2009