The majestic images in a fire.

Upon a cool evening's quiet, deep and vast,
Where twilight settled, and the day was past,
I watched a fire, born of wood and will,
And saw the magic that it held so still.

From nature's heart, a raw and primal gleam,
It spun itself into a waking dream.
With my own eyes, in shadows soft and deep,
I saw the secrets that the flames can keep.

First, a quick flicker, then a gentle swell,
As phantom images began to tell
A silent story, etched in gold and red,
Of forms unseen, by mortal senses led.

A warrior's face, in smoke that curled and flew,
Then ancient forests, bathed in fiery hue.
A dragon's wing, so vast and wild and free,
A shifting landscape, there for all to see.

Each ember's dance, a whisper to the air,
Each rising spark, a vision I could share.
As if the fire, with its vibrant grace,
Was speaking volumes in that hallowed place.

No words it uttered, yet its message clear,
A primal language, banishing all fear.
A cosmic canvas, painted in the dark,
Leaving upon my soul its living mark.

Oh, what a wonder, on that cool night's stage,
To turn a simple flame into a sage.
The fire spoke, of mysteries profound,
On sacred, shifting, silent, burning ground.