Quiet Like Fire

Quiet Like Fire

You thought that strength was thunder—fists, a storm against the door,

A battle cry on every breath, a boot across the floor.

But I have learned a different heat, a softer, stubborn pyre:

A heart that doesn’t split the night, yet burns there—quiet like fire.

¤

No sparks to brag along the roof, no smoke to stain the sky,

just coals that keep their ruby truth while louder flames go by.

I’ve been the blaze that ate itself and left a field of wire;

Now I'm an ember, low and sure, a steady inward fire.

¤

I do not shout my boundaries now; I set them, and then I stay.

The match is in my pocket, but I choose a gentler way.

Don’t think the silence means I yield or fold beneath desire—

My “no” is dressed in velvet, love, but underneath is fire.

¤

When panic claws the windowpane and grief unpacks its rain,

I pour the kettle, sweep the floor, and name each passing pain.

It doesn’t mean I’m made of stone, immune to ash and mire;

It means I warm the room I’m in and hold myself in the fire.

¤

If you should come with open hands, I’ll share this glowing seam—

enough to light your careful steps without undoing mine.

We’ll sit where shadows learn to rest and watch the dark retire.

Two souls that do not have to roar to conquer—quiet like fire.