Fire

It dances with such rhythm and grace

Its delicate steps never out of place

elegant in its work but destruction in its wake

It burns searing colors that always take

It feeds on anything in its path

Burning whatever its flames can grasp

It is a force of incontrollable madness

Never does it chose its purpose

Its just there, a part of the Earth

Its burnt remains lie in the dirt

Upon its death comes new life

But fire will be back to make it die.

A cycle that is infinite 

But when there is dark, there is light.