Around the corner I spot your flames,
little blue flickers, seeming tamed.
But should a whisper, snide and bold
from the tower whence they hold
the power to make all decisions
interfere with your mission
or threaten the one you hold dear,
I know you will instill them with mortal fear.
Your flames will rise up, acrid, molten
and in an instant completely engulf them.
I worry, not for their well being,
but its effect on you I’m seeing.
This radioactive surge you have
may drain you with its grab
and all I can do is hold out my hand,
and hope, hope
you’ll rise up, scar-less, from the spent ground.