The Fire Sermon

Written: November 20, 2025, 

                     *****************

We began as all combustions do—  
a spark in the petiole of dusk,  
Your voice is a mellifluous matchstick  
against the grate of my solitude.  
The air, thick with sky mist and serendipity,  
tasted of carotene and sapidity,  
and I, a rakish viceroy of yearning,  
proclaimed our sanctity sacrosanct.

You wore your laughter as a radiant tiara,  
and I, with slipshod hubris,  
called it eternal.

We built a hearth from threadbare promises,  
fed it with panegyrics and panacea,  
raked the embers with doggedness  
and called the smoke a symbiosis.  
Even the nimbus above us  
seemed to burn unabated.

But fire is a jinxed harbinger—  
Its gospel is catharsis,  
It's an altar, a hecatomb of touch.  
Desire writhed into demand,  
and the sanctity we once revered  
became a palimpsest of blame.

You began to prowl the periphery,  
a lynx in the cloudscape,  
while I spasmodically clung  
to the quixotic catchphrases  
we once whispered sacred sacraments, 

The luster dulled.  
The wisteria wilted.  
Our love, once amaranthine,  
became a dismal quagmire  
of somber glances and saccharine lies.  
Even our silences had a sartorial weight—  
tailored to wound.

Watch you disappear,
a nimbus ensnared within a beacon of light;
without your idolum, soul drifts in stillness    
I endured it with profound dimness.  
Humiliation woven into each witness.

Now, I sift through ash— 
seeking a trace of what we once were: 
a shard of sanctity,  
the verve of vehemence.  
But everything that hovers is the strange, 
A haunting feeling of our split,
a deep, empty chasm carved out
in the codex carved in my rib cage. 

And yet—  
in this ruin,  
this catharsis,  
I find the quintessential truth:  
that love, akin to fire,  
is not meant to last—  
only to metamorphose.

appreciationlovemagicpassionfree verse

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