Burning

There is fire inside that simmers yet yearns to consume that which my eyes wish to set upon. A sight so calescent that with each thought it consumes the very air I breath leaving less then what I had when I first held my breath. There isn't much time left now. The sands of the hour flow freely through the glass that is teasingly shaped like that which doesn't hold true to its own test. It is a measure that spans a life, the greatest of which being the first half and I do but question if that has passed. There comes a moment when it is decided without discourse that which shall prevail. Does the fire burn bright yet controlled by a master, fueling his desires and passion, or does it overwhelm him only to consume all that once was yet is all that is left.  A sweltering inferno that leaves no chance for life to grow from the ashes.