Dancing in a burning room

When dreams lead you to poetry...

I once passed by

a brand old cabin.

It was full of flames,

three man patrolled.

I soon made sure

they didn’t see me,

and I tried to listen

to what they told.

I did my best to

peek in the cottage,

then I was, all sudden,

amazed, astound.

There was a man inside,

he wasn’t burning,

but he was dancing

on the glowing ground.

His arms, they fluttered

above the fire,

as if He didn’t need

to be afraid.

His life was focused

on the entire

hopeful promise

his Lord once made.

I shaked, I shivered

and stepped aside,

as the three guardians

gathered near.

I made myself

prepared to fight,

but I didn’t need to,

gone was all my fear.

I saw them clothed in white,

surrounded by pigeons,

colored by golden

dancing little flames.

From then I knew

who these men were;

I felt safe enough to join them, 

 and started doing the same.

Every day of my life

I had evade all the fires,

only the outside had been

my dancing, little view.

But on that day with them,

I learned: broken are the wires.

We have been dancing

in the burning room.