Fire in the Wardrobe

It started with a single spark
From where no-one could say
A momentary flicker, a question mark
Quietly smouldering under the years
Contained, hidden alone in the dark  

Slowly feeling an increasing heat
A burning need for knowledge
Thirst for answers you did not meet
Coat tails of tradition started to singe
Forming acrid fumes of possible deceit  

Was there maybe another way
Beyond the fur-lined forest edge
A lantern shining prism cut rays
Across a snow covered mindscape
A creeping feeling of one betrayed

As the door opened the flames burst out
Decades old artefact, varnished spitting
Apple wood splintering, whining, devout
Pages curling, images burning, a lion, a witch
Vanishing into the grey ashes of doubt.  

© Copyright 2012 Abigail Baker

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