One day,
We had a bonfire in November,
I watched the ashes,
Flickering with red hope,
Leaping up to reach the sky,
Wishing and dreaming,
To become stars,
So high,
So silver,
So perfect in the twilight,
Against the black-blue.
But each ones determined flare always faded,
Not like in the movies,
Where the hero always break the bound.
The ashes blackened,
With rejection and despair,
Fell down again,
By gravity,
At my feet,
They froze.
My cheeks burned with cold,
Yet it felt so pure,
To watch such power fade so quickly,
To watch how fast all can be lost,
How fast something can sink and die.
Then I remembered,
That is not how the story ends.
It ends with us in piles,
Black piles,
Together in unity.
For Nature is built,
In unity,
Cycles.
We rise and fall together.
Though this is in theory,
How it should be.
We should light one another,
Not jump our way up off each other.
In theory,
We are lit in patient youth,
We fly high,
Aim higher than the sky,
Go up in unity,
Fall in unity,
Die and fade,
In unity.
Even a frozen ash,
Can be lit once more.
Set a forest ablaze.
Even one ash,
Can allow a flower to seed,
And to grow,
All because,
It rose in flame and heat,
Just to fall with defeat,
Yet come alive again.
Just because it's black and frozen,
Does not mean it's now useless and done.
It leaves behind,
It's burning legacy.
YOU ARE READING
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Poetry***WARNING- Extreme gore, violence, and suggestive themes*** Poetry, of course, but this is my style my way. Don't like it? I really do not care. This expresses some of my deepest thoughts which I have never said nor written down before. If you do r...
