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furnace, a bright light fills a room with ambiance. embers dance and embrace sinuses with smoke, debris lie around an orange dancer in the room’s corner, the furnace is on fire, the flames engulf the room, they all burned slowly, and without warning.
furnando, furnace, furnesco, furnace, finance, fumble, furnace.
The furnace burned bright with red gold flames, and the heat poured off of it in great quantity. It was a pleasant way to spend a winter evening, here, reading in front of the fireplace. With my cup of hot coca and my trusted winter’s blanket right at my side, I couldn’t imagine feeling more content.
Keep going! Keep going! Master Swordsman yelled. His fires were almost tall enough to fuel his next greatest weapon.
He turned and faced his great masterpiece: a juggernaut, as tall as ten men, nearly overflowing with flame and menace. It would not be long now.
And the endless sky disintegrated. The oranges, blues, pinks, and purples slowly left the sky, in tufts of smoke they floated into his pocket as he walked down the gray city sidewalk.
How hot, how burning. My face is red raw from the heat of the glowing furnace in front of me, with no respite, how I’d love some ice or a cool breeze to lessen the intensity. The red ambers glow and hiss as they continue to char the wood and debris at the bottom, getting hotter all the time.
We sat around the furnace, wallowing in its heat. It was too cold outside to be anywhere else, other than around the warmth. I peered out the window and watched the snow fall in its swirling flakes.
The rock carving gentle crimson lines into his hands as he jammed them into another crevice. Walking his feet higher and grunting at the effort, he finally pulled a hand free to grasp the upper most and final hold. Emerging onto the earth above he grinned to his belayer, “Call that a chimney?! Mate that’s a furnace!”
A furnace is very hot. Hotter than the sun. Hotter than Zac Efron, and that’s saying something. A furnace is so hot it would burn you to ashes in 60 seconds.
The heart was once thought to be a furnace. I still feel mine is. It burns, alive and hot, and dances like the flames of a fire on a cold winter night. Curse this furnace-heart, for if it were not this I’d be cold and never burned by love again.
The Furnace: It baked brocks and clay sculptures for the people to admire and for the people to build with. It burned night and day, with rotating shifts of hard working labourers that fed its eternal fires till it was fiery hot. it was all the town had to live for, but they did not mind because it brought them warmth, bricks and clay sculptures.
The furnace broke today. I’m sitting in the cold. No one’s coming, like they said they would. All I can see is the bleek sky swirling with snow. No one knows.
the furnace made it’s regular rattle that kept me up just like every other night. but tonight, it wasn’t the only thing keeping me up. The thoughts just kept running through my head and I couldn’t slow them down for a moment of shut eye.
he was a hot furnace,
burning with energy and burning time and energy
to stay so;
self-destructive and self-creating,