I prod the funeral pyre of my ego <br />with a sturdy stick. <br />One made of a question <br />that is most dear to my heart and soul. <br />Skilfully mixing unburnt stubbornness <br />with leafy insubstantial claims. <br />Leaping flames gather force <br />the heat causing some recoiling <br />as it streams upon my face. <br />Mysteriously one knotted log <br />grows in size and has the name of pride. <br />The stick continues about its work <br />and as I begin to understand <br />the nature of the work at hand <br />stick and log they both burn too. <br />I am left to simply stand <br />with nothing here remaining in my grasp <br />and watch the embers gently glow <br />as I see that ego go.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-burning-question/