Letter to a Mortal

Letter to a Mortal

Remembered world drowned

beneath skies of falling fire.

 

Dreams of ash laughing

at what could have been.

 

But don’t despair,

my life matters.

 

My life will be different,

 

than yours:

 

a memory.

 

A memory of a candle

extinguished

by the howling wind.

A memory that

was.

But not I.

 

I am

a picture,

turned to dust,

of lies

of lies and lies

that burn and burn 

at the tendrils of love

that should have been.

 

I walk

 

alone,

 

along the rusted path

 

engraved

with the souls of those

 

who remembered to say

 

goodbye.

 

I believe

An island of wax,

holding aloft a blue flame,

in an ocean of drowning fire

will melt

in the morning sun

like a dying soul.

 

A candle of darkness

in a universe of light

 

shines longer,

 

longer than me.

 

Suns will darken,

hearts will wither,

souls will turn to mist

on a foggy day,

but I will stand

here,

on the rock

that will be dust,

as a pillar,

a monument,

a lesson,

of what

should not have been.

 

A boat,

 

of blood,

flesh,

and sinew,

 

sails away,

 

dream catcher

 

on the drowning ocean,

 

bathed in falling fire.

 

A boat of blood,

flesh,

and sinew,

leaves me,

standing on a dusty rock,

imagining

what could have been

and what will be:

an eternal life,

 

maybe worth living

 

that

 

is

 

mine.