Looking back,
glancing over
my shoulder, I
see our shadows
splayed upon the
soil of our lives
like a creeping
specter continually
lashing out at
my heels, stalking
me through my
adolescent days
when I thought
I knew what love
was and how it
applies to life.

Desire consumed
my soul, helpless
to the temptations
that only served
to fuel my regret.
Now, before the
fire, I cast out
my final memoir
of a life long since
dead. I have been
indefinitely changed,
molded to your
presence as easily
as the potter's
hand to clay.
I watch my memories
burn away, crumbling
to ash with my former
self as I sob silently,
my heart and soul
screaming with the
pain of fire, a single
tear leaving a trail
of blazing passion
down my cheek.

Deliver me from flame
and guide me through
this impenetrable darkness.
I turn my back,
let come what may.
You're nothing but
an image of death
writhing in the
maw of the hearth.
The stifling presence
of your encroaching
shadow dissipates
along with the
final plume of smoke
to escape certain death.


It
is
finished.

Though, I can't
help but
ask myself:
Did we ever
know love,
or did we give
ourselves to adoration?