Purgatory

I stand before a merry fire, burning hot burning bright.
The flames dance to a jaunty tune, the pop and crackle of my passions
Its fuels are my emotions, my drives and my desires
Three fruits sit before me, each the same and different, two or all three unknowing
The first, the chosen, the sweetest of the bunch.
It feels the fire’s warmth but does not know the flames can burn.
The second, the innocent, still connected to the branch that it sprang from,
It is hidden from the fire’s warmth and protected from the flame’s light
The third is ripe. Whether it knows a choice might be made, it cares not
The fire holds it mesmerized, the dance of flames against the heavens
Beside me sits another, his own fruit alone before the fire
He sits and wonders, should he snatch the fruit away or cast it in to burn?
I listen to the fire roar, watch the flames climb higher
I make my own choice quickly, but not in haste
I move between the fire and fruits, letting the flames lick and scorch my skin
Pain replaces warmth, the way bliss replaces pain, but I do not care
Such is the price for dealing with the fire, and while it burns it does not consume
I feel the tendrils of flame crawl across my skin, but they no longer burn
Instead they warm and cast back the shadows of an unwanted night
For now the fruits are safe and the fire tamed, as I sit an contemplate
Thinking about my stay in purgatory