(It’s possible I spend too long trying to think of cool images, and not long enough trying to actually put a meter to my poetry.)
Sooner or later, we all pass through fire and flame; and not all of us are tempered.
Some of us, like clay in a too-hot oven, shatter under the stress;
Some merely catch fire, like paper or moths, caught in the flame.
Sometimes it seems we have survived the wrath of the flame,
Only to be put under force later, and be shattered
Into millions of pieces under this final duress.
And sometimes, none of this happens when we go through stress.
Instead, we come out, older, wiser, sadder, only to find the flame’s
Heat has, instead of destroying us, left us strengthened.
Tempered in the heat, by the stress, we walk out in the world, borne of flame.