Poetry: To the Unknown...

The fire begins
small and unassuming.

I stand in the hall
and watch it flicker
in the back of the house,
white,
yellow,
bright,
hot,
smokeless.

It licks the walls,
growing slowly.

I enter my room
to pack -
things of importance
or so I think.

I grab them,
methodically, unthinking.
Grabbing, stuffing
with no purpose,
no meaning,
no priority.
There is no excitement,
no anxiety.
I just grab and stuff
as the fire grows.
There is time.
Grab, stuff, grab, stuff,
grab stuff.
Unthinking.

My senses are soon jolted.
With a great roar,
the fire breaks through.
And inferno engulfs
the back of the house.
Yet, it burns quietly,
steadily,
whiter,
brighter,
hotter.

I am cool.
I see clearly.
I know it is time.
I take only one bag,
a sea shell and some pocket change
in a small pink purse.
I speak out loud,
"Goodbye, all my lovely things"
to my books, my furniture,
my music, my treasures, my walls,
and calmly walk out,
down the brightly lit, cool, hot,
smokeless, fiery hall,
passing a thin stranger
dressed in wool,
who casually enters my room
and disappears.

The dog waits for me
patiently
on the landing.
Clutching my remnants,
I descend the stairs,
whistling for him to follow me out
to the unknown.
"C'mon, boy."