The Flint and the Flame
The Flint and the Flame
The Flint
I am the flint, the iron, and the wall,
Braced for the winter that never would fall.
I traded my youth for a suit of cold stone,
To stand as the bridge that you walked on alone.
The Flame
And I am the spirit, the silk, and the light,
The candle you guarded through darkness of night.
But the fortress you built for my safety and grace,
Became a cathedral with no living face.
The Flint's guard
I watched the years ripple like ghosts on the lake,
A harvest of seasons I could not partake.
I am the Heart, a heavy, locked drum,
Waiting for music that never would come.
So close to your pulse, yet a desert apart,
A prisoner bound to the beat of your heart.
The response of the Flame
I felt every frost that you caught in your shield,
The scars of a battle you never would yield.
I am the Soul, a bird in a spire,
Feeding the shadows with desperate fire.
I reach through the iron, I reach through the years,
To wash all your armor in rivers of tears.
The Yearning of the Flint
I ache for the touch of a hand, not the steel,
For a wound that the sun is permitted to heal.
The hunger is marrow, the longing is bone—
To die as a statue and wake as your own.
The yearning of the Flame
I crave the collapse and the heat of the fray,
The moment the "Safe" is all stripped away.
A hollow so deep it is echoing you—
A sky that is screaming to finally be blue.
The End of the Watch
Then the silence dissolves inn a crumbling rust,,
As the pride and the protection return to the dust.
The heavy door splinters, the iron gives way,
To the gold-bleeding light of a long-buried day.
I fall in your arms while the lost seasons weep,
For the promises kept and the secrets we sleep.
No shield but your skin, and no law but this breath—
The Soul meets the Heart in a life beyond death.
In the salt of the joy and the grace of the scar,
We are home where we were... yet exactly where we are.
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