Flames dancing with the wind,
In a genre all to themselves.
Outlining fluidity.
Comforting...Hostile...Powerful...Fragile.
Contained when in sync,
The motion of motions.
Creating magnificent landscapes in their wake,
That are either desirable or disastrous.
For chaos ensues when the two are at odds,
The steps become unrecognizably common.
Such that even an amateur could do.
Selfishly they violently attempt to separate,
Leaving permanent reminders of destruction.
Though when looking through the Creator's eyes,
There's purpose, even hope.
Whether the waltz performed will,
Add land mass allowing for expansion,
Or for...creating distance...
We, will decide.
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