The Art of Making Fire

The scientists gave up and
began praying to Prometheus.
Give us fire, they pleaded.

Unto mortals, he replied,
the gift of fire
I have already given.

We want to power
the planet, they explained,
with star fire, with fusion.

That art I cannot teach,
Prometheus stated.
That is the realm of the gods alone.

But it is cold and dark,
they begged, and the light
will feed the green plants.

You have more than enough,
he replied, for your needs.
Your wants you must temper.

Then silence he gave them,
for he had answered
their prayers with wisdom.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to a prompt to write about the art of making fire at We Write Poems.

I wrote this a couple of days ago, but am posting it as today's poem. I haven't written a poem yet today, but it's only 6:15 a.m. here on the west coast.