Tristan Robert Lange

Fireproof

You see the flame,

Think it’s so

pristine.

You douse it—

drench it—with

Gasoline.

Thundering swoosh kabang

The explosive blasts

Rock and thwang

And bellow

Upward—

Sirens rang.

What you didn’t see

In your useless

Plea

To get others to

Deceive

And deny me—

The key you missed—

Is that I’ve already

Been dismissed.

I’ve been cast out

From the garden’s

Edenic mist—

Out beyond the

Flaming

Sword. Why?
Because I was

Bored. You dig?

Pointless.

Throw your dart

At the heart,

The bullseye is apart

From its ghastly head.

Guess what?

I’m still not dead.

But, here’s the thread.

You can’t hit

The one who

Slipped through

Fiery rain—

Dodged heated hail—

A ghastly refrain,

Not worse than

The time

I was thrown

In, sublime,

To the fiery forge.

They could not

There gorge

On my seared skin,

Untouched—

Not burned—akin

To forgiven sin.

Did you not know,

Did you not

Acquire,

That I’ll never

Be afraid of

Fire?

It has led me

Through the night—

Through hell and

Confusion and

On through bondage’s

Plight.

It’s been a pillar,

A guide of hope.

It’s aged me in

Wisdom,

Helping me to

Cope.

It’s dictated my passion,

It’s consumed my

Soul,

And revealed

My weakest parts,

Forging them

Whole.

It’s danced like

Flames,

Scorching my head,

And has loosened

My tongue

To others’ dread.

But if all of that

For you is not proof

I am more than

Just a flame.

More than fire,

I am fireproof.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.