Burn a Log
A catch in my throat,
a spitting image of bated breath
in patchworks of subtle notes;
Noticing a quality of a wilting death
beginning to grow.
Focusing on a world relaxing as it smokes
Mismatches a bait, silver linings that shake a spread
to the hope you always said to have known,
Reminders of what could’ve been
or of the moments when you should’ve spoke.
“What is it that I can’t let go?”
Attached to the feet carrying me past where I left,
when something near within felt as if it froze,
seemed like fitting stitches to the world I mend
to this circle of surrounding sandy stones.
Maybe fate found a way to spread
with the flames that ascend from these cultured oaks;
A warmth of history, giving today the chance
in hopes for a theft without that humming groan.
All sparked from the misses matches
a world placed in my reach
but I confess to what I chose.
If this tree could remember,
do I feel what it was shown?
How much is consumed?
How much is transformed?
I may not find the ash of use
But if it and dust mix with an origin adage;
In illuminating what I can not yet know in truths,
Light from all that its made acts as a bandage
for getting us through;
All that glitters can still grow into gold
as the favorable remains subject to ones view.
You can let go.
I have been most inaccessible to myself,
While offering everything to the world,
without the thought of it to be negotiating
in a ways to serve my own.
Maybe still its my attempt for my mind
to finally have this concept wove.
I can’t know what I am
I know I can’t know.
When this fire burns out
and only the ashen dirt and embers are left to tend
as mimics of this dark and starry night,
When the morning comes
Here I recognize,
If I had saved my breath
I would have let go.
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