Please claim the words that will fix this home.
Please-do it now-before I walk away.
The wolves of December slice silence from my skin
and carry it towards a vast, foreboding sky.
Guttural whimpers herald a welcome separation.
Still, my heart hungers for our flame.
Do you remember lighting that flame?
We were so young and so very far from home.
That day, now stained in memory, was a critical separation.
We loped further and further away
from wisdom until we stopped under a counterfeit sky.
Unlike now, I could not recognize your skin.
Pale as pearl was my once youthful skin.
Yet, beneath your body, I was a garnet flame.
Nothing could stop us…not even the sky.
Here, beside my beloved fig trees, we fashioned a home
and tucked it neatly away
inside a perfect storm of separation.
But within our peaceful tempest sprouted a sinister separation.
Night after night, it gnawed at my amaranthine skin.
Wounds will melt away
with spring’s advent; an all-consuming flame
shall continue to warm your home.
Or, so I was instructed by a cunning sky.
Tonight, I plead with a most impotent sky,
asking for a final stroke of separation
to raze the awful duplicity of our home.
Bleak answers from heaven soak my skin.
They extinguish my wavering flame.
From my side, you step away.
I too, slink silently away,
forsaking the walls and suffocating sky
which fomented our separation.
A few miles down the road a flame
from a streetlamp shines upon my skin.
I seek out a more loving home.
A buoyant flame emerges from separation.
It burns brilliantly, far away from that dilapidated sky.
Only within this skin, am I home.
One thought on “Striking Out”
Reblogged this on Letters & notes and commented:
Really enjoyed reading this.