Wallace Henry Thurman

Fire!!

FIRE . . . flaming, burning, searing, and penetrating far beneath the superficial items of the flesh to boil the sluggish blood.
FIRE . . . a cry of conquest in the  night, warning those who sleep and revitalizing those who linger in the quiet places dozing.
FIRE . . . melting steel and iron bars, poking livid tongues between stone apertures and burning wooden opposition with a cackling chuckle of contempt.
FIRE . . . weaving vivid, hot designs upon an ebon bordered loom and satisfying pagan thirst for beauty unadorned . . . the flesh is sweet and real . . . the soul an inward flush  of fire. . . . Beauty? . . . flesh on fire – on fire in the  furnace of life blazing. . . .
“Fy-ah,
Fy-ah, Lawd,
Fy-ah gonna burn ma soul!”