eros the bittersweet

one final burning | part two

ii.

i know this one
could not possibly go
the way of all other
dying old houses.
firewalls isolate it,
so it sizzles on in private,
contained in all its seethings,
its intimate designs
within itself intensified
into poetry's richly ringing
intertexted lines limned
in cycles of firelit pain
and joy, sovereign and sole
within its fragilely flammable
formidable walls, my personal
incandescent world that had
then burnt on and on, not out
nor down, but forever quietly on.
and because forever,
some ghosts of it are fielded
all over the site of its ruins.
imagine fluffs of light,
ghoulish emanations of its
immortal remainders, picking up
their paths slowly, dawdling
over previous treasures, worldly
and invisible, and now, so soon
assuming their eerie sheen,
an afterglow of cinders burning
flameless in the tomb of night.

0 comments:

 

anais nin

and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

t.s. eliot

i should have been a pair of ragged claws.

frida kahlo

i hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.