Underground fires

Words are sounds filled with meaning
                               Those who know them don't need language      
the tone, dulcet at times  
                               grating at times        always sweet,    
will tell the tale not spoken      

Those harsh days
                               those lovely nights,
those lick the corner of your lip mornings        
Turn My face to the wall afternoons
Filled with pregnant pairings      
taken asunder by the hand that wrote, not wrought,  

Stone tablets, graven images        
Nay he meant craven images      
showed the way of sulphurous scents        
rotten eggs and tar of cement        
be the smouldering veins deep in the earth        
Some fires, ground fires, underneath fires, buried fires    
smoulder and burn for eons
      who tends them who sights them      
  
May we all be there for them?  
Too much to hope , too much to ask      
leave and rant, looking up and sloughing the cares away