All gifts are off: for this stolen spark of power
the world rebelled and asked for something back.
He cheated. Man enjoyed playing with fire
too much, thought little of him on his rock,
chained and consumed. The air grew hot and dark.
Among her luggage-landfall was a jar.
Unstopped, it filled the world with strains so high
they burnt through layers beyond our atmosphere.
Human in truth but filling air and sky,
she looked to others to say she was okay.
Mere mortals of course, they could do little but take
her hand and stop it up again. Such is life.
After, the world erupting in the fire it took,
they played for time, tried turning the lights off.
They hoped against hope that it would be enough.
This poem © Oliver Tearle 2021