Putting Out The Fire With Gasoline

This latest poem was granted permission by a friend and coworker, given to me in run-on form. Here's the raw version:

FIRE
I let the fire burn like a candle glowing brightly on a dark night, the fire burns with intensity that sets the stars aglow, the fire burns into my soul knowing that the light will never die. I go on feeling the fire as if it's apart of me burning every part of my body until I die, I won't die as long as the fire like a candle keeps on burning setting my soul alive."

There will be a time and a place for prose poems, but this is not that time. Let's give this giant Kit-Kat a break, shall we?

Fire

I let the fire burn like a candle,
glowing brightly on a dark night,
the fire burns with intensity
that sets the stars aglow,
the fire burns into my soul
knowing that the light will never die.

I go on feeling the fire
as if it's a part of me
burning every part of my body until I die,
I won't die as long as the fire,
like a candle,
keeps on burning setting my soul alive.

The poem centers on a singular image --the narrator burning up in the night-- with the sentiment of an immortal spirit. And that can be stirring if you've ever stood out at midnight and gawked at far-away suns. Is the poem about the fire of the will to live? The fire of feeling satisfied with one's place in the universe? A passion of purpose, perhaps? That's the trick with poems like these, especially when editing: the standard rules say I should tag some solid imagery and sensations to this mysterious fire and give it context, but that clearly is not what the original poet intended and I would rather keep the wide-eyed perspective intact than pose some rhymes about campfires and fireflies.

"Like a candle," though. The original poet uses this simile twice and doesn't extend the comparison much. Why, yes, candles do contain fire. Care to elaborate? Rub your hands together, it's about to get toasty!

Fire

I stand alone beneath dim stars,
my fire a consuming flicker.
Though I glow bright on this cold night,
my hands struggle to handle the wicker.

The heat descends into my soul,
a light about to fade out.
But it is only after shadow descends
that paths are found by the devout.

Within, the fire spends and renews,
a quiet death lit out of sight.
My soul reborn, I am a star,
candle to those huddled at night.

What could that all mean?! I gave the poem rhyme and a fairly regular meter, which almost demands that it tell a story instead of convey a mood (see, change the methods and you change the story). The actions of the poem are no less abstract than the original, except these three stanzas develop the fire rather than describe it. In the original, the fire burnt up the narrator and kept her soul alive. In my edit, the fire is weak at first, then enters the narrator, then transforms the narrator into becoming like the stars --other bodies of flame-- along with some pseudo-spiritual metamorphosis into a protective entity.

What I wanted to capture was the feeling in the original that the fire, or clinging to the fire, would risk the narrator's life. In my case, faith in the fire leads to freezing in the cold, except this is one of those magical fires that rewards the soul and looks after its keeper. The body dies but the soul thrives, heating/lighting up the night to help people in winter.

Now to write a companion piece about an ice cube that saves lives after its owner has a heat-induced stroke...