Stagnant

I feel stagnant
like an active volcano that has
lost the skill of eruption,
whose sparks, trapped centuries in it's
pit, forget the feel of oxygen
and diminish in the dark.

I fear that I will live forever
like a mountain black against
a beautiful sky,
and when they open me,
they won't find the fire that
raged there once -
only gray stone.

Where has it gone?
The heat that once
warmed me to the world?
Where is the fervor
that made me feel alive?