I start with the simplest verb, Hide a pronoun in my core, My end is lured by flame, But I outgrow them all.

Pressed in red, I prove a king, I bark on ice and guard the shore, Break me and I can't hold a thing, My kiss approves, my lips ignore.

Pick me. I twist and tumble to work. A mortise-cian needed, With dead space I flirt. A striking of plates, Bolt to hole, then its jerked. At my end, add an ‘et’, Photo kept under shirt.

Am I a twig or a leaf? No, that's only what I want you to believe. Am I talking to a deity? No, that's only imagery. In my vicinity, you'd better run, or in my claws you'll be gone.

A vertical path of wooden bones, assisting you to touch the skies, yet grounded on earth. Ascend with care, one step at a time, to reach where birds might roam.