3/18/2008

It seems as if the sparks are fading
The last fire, long burned out in these gritty neural clusters
I'm in some unswept hallway, hung dank with cobwebs, only footprints in the dust to mark my passage.
Unbanked, left to burn unchecked, the fire's consumed all resources, nothings left. I've let the fires of my mind die. No beacon in the night to lead me home.

I would walk along, march in meter, march in step with the rest. Their soldier's fire burning, would bring me no comfort, no warmth. I could feel the cold weight of the ferryman's coins as I stare at flowers facing west.

I would drink them, I would breathe them in. Seeing colors again, the dust washing away, I would dream again. Feeling flames unfold again, in the hearth of my heart.