Croatoan
The flames that once licked at our feet and kissed our cheek and flirted and beckoned us...
It engulfs us.
The truth is around us and its gentle call gives way to a nasty hiss.
The dreams that it once inspired now lay charred and ravaged.
The pieces are there but they are burned and dirty
The fire...it tricked us.
The fire we danced around, played with, used as a soft blanket of warmth.
It tricked us.
It lied.
It stole from us.
It drew us in with our curious eyes and imaginable hope.
It made us believe we were strong and shielded.
It enticed us with shadows and its romantic flickering light
We wanted it to open our minds... and it made us a prisoner
And it consumed us until our thoughts were its thoughts
Its grip became tighter and unyielding until we lost our voices
until we couldn't remember what we wanted.
The joy fades into nightmares
The freedom we traded for bondage
The flirting a violation
The open expanse before us a crevasse of black
But we are still there.
The seed of the great redwood tree does not sprout and grow until it is incinerated by fire.
Its shell turns black and distorted from the heat
It is unrecognizable from its former shape
But it is still there.
The fire does not win
The fire is there to destroy, but it fails.
The shell is broken and the eyes are opened.
The roots take hold and there is green and newness.
It is supple and moist and there is promise
And as we once skirted the embankment of mystery
Loving the velvety texture of night
Craving the acrid, caustic, dimly lit trenches
Embracing the Beauty, the distorted, the disguises, the filth
These have burned away in the fire.
We emerge years later to find there is no armor
There is no shell
There is no hiding
But there is no fire
Memories will come and we will be sickened by how fondly we remember our captor.
The great trickster.
But there will be no fire.
Copyright © Jen Sanchez | Year Posted 2016
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