Flame

By Ben Johnson

The shaman chanted an ancient wail

As he danced on the threshold of the fire’s light,

And eternity.

He placed his palm upon my forehead,

Channeling secrets of space and time,

Memories from years past and years to come.

The pulsating embers of the fire revealed a gate

Intertwined with slithering vines.

Beyond the gate, stood the dawn of a liberated world:

Canyons, wild and deep,

Rivers, swift and pure.

Without words, the shaman spoke,

And I turned around.

Behind lay the grave

Of an abused world at its end.

As quickly as it had come,

The scene before me dissipated,

Absorbed back into coals

Of the soft flame.

— Ben Johnson is a senior at Lawrence High School.