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The Fire Rages On...
the fire rages on….
smoke hot and murky
(like sodden dank old whiskey)
burns the backs of her brooding eye lids
as she watches fires power frolic
like a mesmerizing ghost
it consumes with licking fingers
the aromatic lavender and the intricate lilies
destroying so slowly
the dark hard leather
and delicate white lace
(it could be gone in an instant)
the quiet like a devastation spills into her
like bodies of the long passed
(already ascended)
eyes like cheap gin
on a Saturday night
begging to be borrowed
in someone else’s head
forms of faces out of tune like an old scratched record
replaying into a wiped out ancient black sky
breeding dismay between what should be kissed lips
burrowing into flames she sketches with her ruby red
and shadowed pink mouth
(had it always been this way?)
she….with fragile fingers
twining and untwining
(with temptation of a rose thorn)
unhealed with lacerations
does she own the capacity
on her own
to block the fierceness of the sun?
beneath the stale sirens
(pounding out a raucous rhythm
on her heart)
of a raw and frantic flutter
she hears the wild piercing
of wings beating in futility
against harsh walls
rat tat tatting….rat tat tatting….
battering and scattering
trapped inside a cage
“fly free….just fly free!”
she pleads to the lady she visits every Friday
“why the hesitation?”
as she whimpers from the wounds
old and dead and long buried
in the ground beneath a willow
and still the fire rages and rampages
steals the flower petals
while ripping through the forest
as she trips on tender heels of the never fast enough
smoke still burns the backs of her brooding eyelids….
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