A Man of Flame

He was a body in flames, like all that walk, fly or crawl his body was a hive for both death and life. His skull was ancient the bone of it, was a small hill at the root of the Himalayas. The child was conceived under a broken wing, one created by the tainted purity of all damning prophesies. The child was taken to a sanctuary city, a place where imagination was mummified, a place where heaven was stored in clay jars. His lamp was lit, yet it did not burn, flame took his flesh until he could be seen by the blind. Homeless he was, yet he sheltered from the elements becoming them, acknowledging the truth of them. No person can live longer than his last memory - he did, that is why we light candles in honor of his continued arrival in every womb.