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BURN

The bricks on the window ledge are crumbling
and the mortar that served as the bonding has
dissipated throughout the years, having tasted
the wrath of the elements unprotected by glass
gone now for over a decade at least. For over five
hundred years has this window faced the east
and longer still have I been denied the warmth of
the rising sun. Set far away from the progress of
mortal man on this desolate mountainside, I am left alone
without bother in this decaying lair.
A true structure of immortality both these walls and
the phantom who lurks within.
Like the jungle cat now stock still but beneath the skin
each muscle tensed and bristling. Drawing within, I fall
back down into myself, back through the years.
Reaching deeper, further, long past the wicked embers
of my dark gift, to another time, another me.
Projecting into the long lost child I used to be.
Only to witness, only to feel, only to taste
the light of the morning sun. It's fire illuminates
the room even before its searching fingers stretch inside.
Aglow in golden color, every fissure every vein
on the brick is evident, dancing in shadows once
and now released as the dawn gathers momentum.
The effects of the room are alive. I hold the gaze,
pulling my inner strength to keep the moment
but the dawn denies my embrace, I am forced to
withdraw from this memory of light,
for even now...

even now...

it burns me

 

Poetry