I Wonder

I wonder
I wonder if Hitler tended the fire when he was young?
If he carried the split logs into the house,
carefully arranged the kindling, starter wood, and logs.
I wonder if he struck the match,
and held it out until a tiny flame began to grow.
Did he watch as the flame became a fire?
As the kindling was consumed and the fire caught hold of the logs,
did he stare at the multi-colored magic
which danced before him across its personal stage?

Did he stay?
Did he watch the fire burn?
Did he see how the log, once good and whole, young and green,
became burnt and holed, charred and destroyed?
Did he take up the poker and knock away the charred outsides,
ridding the log of its outer skin
and providing the fire with a fresh stage, a fresh start?
Did he notice that when the old was knocked away
the fire burned brighter, the magic grew?
Did he ponder these things as he gazed into the fire?
Did he compare them to life?

Did he stay?
Did he watch the fire burn?
Did he continue to knock away
the charred, to allow more charring?
Till at last the fire burnt low,
and then died,
robbed of its stage,
denied further victims.
When the magic flickered, faded, and fled,
did he go?

Or did he stay.
Did he watch the last glowing embers die?
I wonder if he noticed that ridding
himself of the old, useless, and burnt,
had made the fire burn hotter, yes.
It had made the fire burn brighter, yes.
But it had also made the fire burn faster as well.
I wonder if he noticed that in the end,
the magic was gone,
and ashes were all that was left.