Black Eyed Man
from the dream
you awoke
and spoke of us
naked under
a tree
made of
fire
you said we
had died
and found
each other
there
on the edge
of time
bleeding
and fucking
under a tree
made of
fire
and now
after years
beyond
your passing
I imagine
you there
waiting
patiently
for me
to arrive
the black
eyed man
who held
my empty
pale soul
beyond
the storms
of internal
rage
beyond the
demons
of dark
winds
naked
and waiting
under a tree
made of
fire
Campfire Condolences
I let the soot stain my fingertips ashen grey, pinching the corner of a splintered log as I toss it further into the metal pit.
I imagine how tired the flames must be. Most refer to a fire as raging, as angry as a hellhound biting at the confines we try haplessly to keep it within.
But would a fire not burn so bright, not burn so fiercely that it wishes to rest? Because as the flames turns to ash, the wood burnt something terrible there squats it's assailant, blowing on its ruin and trying to catch carcass to cardboard.
I try to clean up its disarray with my own, and it feels as though helping a comrade to its feet around the shrapnel of stainless steel.
I tend to this fire as though its a tangible peace of me, tend it solely until it shows sign of exhaustion, and smile when it lets out a relieved sigh as I douse it before bed. Watching it twirl and dance above the sky top of the tent, feeling just the bit lighter for it all.
A Final Date in the Journal
clouds came, acknowledged
from the desert, a nod to the sea... shore
combing the hair of our beach... lit
in the wind, seeds like shells
of us, burning the soles...
at our feet, and none
shall ever follow... again
follow the footsteps
like we did... as pages
follow you, like I did
my phantom shadow
going west, holstered
into fatal sunset...
Firelight
“I suppose I did
love her,” Braelyn said.
A log crackled, spit
glowing flecks against
the dark. She might have
had more to say, but
not to us.
I sat with Ashley in
tree-broken moonlight
watching her sister,
drinking. Ashley leaned
close, shared my jacket
while the fire fell. We
cooked nothing and told
no stories. We sat with
Braelyn, watching embers
fade to ash.
March 11, 2024
By Fire
She dances in the wind
Her vivid colors twisting, pinned
Against the backdrop of the nightsky
A warm embrace, one touch, you die
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Reborn in her trust
The world crashes
Yet you rise
Like the phoenix, a reprise
What once was, will never be
In her flames, gone are the sea
Of sorrows, worries and pain
Everything set to gain
A blank slate
A new fate
An empty canvas
With endless paint
light me on fire one last time
when it's cold, let me warm you
feed my letters to the flames
make me eat my words
"I'll love you forever,
I'll never leave you"
let me go, but before i leave,
light me on fire one last time
dispassionately,
let me cook you dinner
let me light the candles on the table
let me leave before you pour the wine
the blood is mine,
kiss me, kill me,
light me on fire one last time
release me
with eyes bloodshot and brilliant
sharpen your kitchen knives
eat me, cremate me,
light me on fire one last time
my smile is warm, my cheeks are red
blushing, burning in the firelight
red, blood on the ledger
mistakes fade into ash,
into the clean black of night
all that's left is:
light me on fire one last time
Grit & Grace
You stand amid the ashes, beautiful in your rawness,
a phoenix cloaked in shadows,
dirt smeared across your cheeks like war paint.
Gritty resilience etched in every line of your face,
you are the embodiment of both storm and sanctuary.
You've danced with the flames, haven't you?
Let them lick at your scars, turning pain into power,
fear into fuel.
Each ember, a soft, fluffy touch
against the hardened layers you’ve worn like armor.
In the fire's embrace, you find purity—
a cleansing so profound,
it strips away the veneer of your past selves,
leaving only the essence of your being,
dark yet dazzling.
Set it alight, let the flames rise,
watch them consume the doubts,
the past whispers of 'never' and 'too much.'
In this conflagration, you are reborn,
not from the ashes, but from the blaze itself.
Beautiful, dirty, gritty, dark, fluffy—
you are all these things and none,
transformed by the inferno's kiss,
a testament to the power of fire
to cleanse, to change, to liberate.
The Phoenix
They never mention the blinding, searing pain
of disintegrating skin
Falling away from ashen bone
The brief, but brutal mourning
for the life departing
The rebirth is a new spring
New hope painted onto clear skies
An empty canvas to be filled
With want and glory
Every time she rises once more
An ethereal form from the ashes
She is more beautiful
Filled with greater strength and purpose
Certain that this will be the last
The final form
The meticulously drafted version
of herself
At last she could be done
with the burning, and reviving
With the drowning flame
Searing and reforming her shape
Again. Again. Again.
But every new hope
Is seared at the edges
And each new beginning
Always circles back to itself
An ouroboros
An endless chasing of dreams
And no matter how she tries
To dance in water
To dream in dew and grass
The fire always find her again.
And she is lost and found
and lost again
to the flames.
Cleansing
by: Fire
I've been roped in by a god again
to put in some dirty work
On a heathenous den of cunning and sin
where the killing is simply a perk
Ravenous rage flows like ink on a page
as my flames lick the edges of night
The war that I wage brings an end to this age
lit by the souls I ignite
Brimstone and fire on the funeral pyre
so they have nowhere they can run
Going scorched earth to promote its rebirth
fulfilling the word of the Son
Burning and burning and quenching the yearning
of lost souls who race to their grave
The gods are so vengeful but their rage is essential
to enlighten the souls that they save
Flames are still soldiering on the fields that lay smoldering
and the ashen air fills up the skies
You can hear the ground crackle like the laugh of a jackal
under the gaze of their angry red eyes
They call on me and I come to be
to feast on the masses again
Eating your city without any pity
I came to cleanse all your sin
Demon in White
Flames trickle and wave in brightly colored strands
of hair that flows to her small waist when she stands.
I long to kiss her red, fiery, radiant cheeks,
And be branded by her lips whose breath wreaks me.
With white pearls for teeth and an upturned pink nose,
Her gold-dusted skin glows behind modest clothes.
Alluring and tempting to peel off her dress,
Yet there's a scorching forge between her twin breasts.
Her perfume smells of thorny roses, stained red
in bloody crimson hue. Suffocating dread
of falling too deep in her pit of burning.
Hellish illusion. Her laughter is scourging.
To ache for her embrace is death in disguise.
She's far too perfect for all to realize
the treacherous serpent's tongue hissing sparks and lies.
I've escaped just once, with an inch of my life.
I'm far too scared of what lurks within my soul
to brave her fire; I might not emerge whole.
For men such as me, she's a demon in white.
For men she can't burn, on gold wings they take flight.
A, gatekeeper, guard, sentinel, and sentry,
You must embrace her inferno for entry.
The high shining golden gates, are locked up tight
And none may come unless they pass through that fire.
I fall to my knees and curse her in heaven.
My life and my deeds are all wicked leaven!
I can't risk the flames, or brave the blazing fire,
For all that I am is hay, bricks, and mire.