They slam into the revolving door
Forcing themselves, the door stalls
As they push in separate directions.
A side wins, the door spins
Letting them through, the door spins
As clumps of them get into the hall.
Slowly, one by one they
Trickle through, these
There are some that burn neatly
In ordered rows, in
Controlled by fuel,
They linger for a time and
And then there are those that burn
Pushing beyond boundaries,
Their fuel within
Until they are no more.
I knew an inferno that tried to be a candle.