Litany Rewrite

You are the wood and the fire,
the spark and the gasoline.
You are the light that illuminates the sky
and the glow of the pale moonlight.
You are the white of the Navy mans uniform
and the tide-to-go for stains

However, you are not the cold, dark gloomy nights,
the ruin to my name,
or the monster in my closet.
And you are certainly not the pitch fork to the fire.
There is just no way you are the pitch fork to the fire.

It is possible that you are the thunder in a storm,
maybe even the blood for my heart,
but you are not even close
to being the salt in a wound.

And the reflection in the water will show,
that you are neither the ripples in the pond,
nor the car in the garage.

It may intrigue you to learn,
that I am the eyes gazing into the fire,
and the biting of the pen.

I am the ant in a large room,
the mask of a hero (the hidden hand of kindness)
and the secret joy of sibling rivalries.

I am the lost translation
and the seeker to the light.
But don't worry, I'm not the wood and the fire.
You are still the wood and the fire.
You will always be the wood and the fire,
not to mention the spark and -- somehow -- the gasoline.
Mariah May