Final Count

I could sense there was a failure.
I could see the spark falter.
I could feel the wind,
Pouring over that windowsill,
Promising a rain of Biblical grandeur.

And there I longed.
I longed so poignantly
That it became a state,
A plane of existence,
An utterly empty wavelength,
Until there was no reason to
Believe in telepathy,
Until there was no inventory
But the atoms of my being,
And exchange of atmosphere,
And a wishing, for the ending,
Of the fire; that I am.
In this cooling chamber
I understood how the laws
Of thermodynamics,
Apply to matters of the heart,
That the fire does not
Still by will;
Does not necessarily warm
Because it is a fire.
And in this place the light
Illuminates, but only
The sadly raveled,
Edges, of the everyday.

At our evenings encampment,
The fire sizzles still
And scintillates across,
The embers of our endeavors.
Stunned we remain with
The cold bright light of stars;
And a cooling wind
That teases with
Vagrant strands fallen
From an earlier more perfect
Persona; which now
Ruthlessly unwinds,
As the world turns away
From us; in our twilight.

Weathered limbs flicker
In that impassive light,
Flames lick up to be
Extinguished in that biblical rain,
And heaven lingers on the edge
Of dreaming disturbed only by
The final turning, and
The last of the evenings sighs.


Oyéah

What a descriptive poem! you gots talent !!

Loves Dahlin

Nikita

Very well written, and thought provoking. It is a fantastic poem. I look forward to reading more of your posts.

Your poetic friend,

Kevin

Yes, beautifully-crafted, with exquisite use of language.

Welcome to the site! Thank you so much for coming to be among us here; I am so happy you have joined us.

Do visit often, and share as much of your richly-textured poetry with us as you will. You add a great deal to our community.

Unbreakable solidarity, always.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA