a vestige of thought...

I do not write poetry often, but occasionally I feel inspired and decide to try my hand at it. Most often this happens when I should be paying attention to something else, but I pull out a piece of paper and scribble down what comes to mind. I just rediscovered the following poem while going through my papers from my classes of this past semester. I wrote it while in Western Classics. I can't remember exactly what we were reading and discussing at the time, but I think it may have been Rasselas by Samuel Johnson.

A spark.
One.
One spark against the blanket night.
One spark on trampled grass.
One spark.

It glows, this spark,
Yet I tarry.
Do I need fire?
Or am I content
This cool spring eve
With my own jacket?

A fire.
A fire warms.
It blazes and rages.
It lights a view now hidden in dark.
It consumes and must be fed,
This fire.

My coat, though,
Is soft.
It holds out cold.
It holds me well.
Its arms on mine,
This coat.

Where to from here?
The spark flickers.
It dims.
Do I fan it?
Or let it burn out?
Perhaps a third:
Let us see whether the wind blows.

Other poems that I write from time to time can be found at Christinae Carmina (that is, 'The Poems of Christina' in Latin, so as to sound more erudite or something).