This is a writers haven, or nest if you will

Saturday, April 18, 2009

The Cleansing Fire

Breathing fire
upon the world.
Bending pages, rending lives,
tearing souls from their resting places.
Breathing Fire.

Playing with Fire,
a dangerous decent into a kingdom of unhappiness.
A place where you lose yourself
and everything you thought you cared about
But you never did, because if you did, you really wouldn't be
Playing with Fire.

Engulfed in Flame,
a game you never chose to enter,
one to which you were never invited,
But you're there, forever.
In this Neverending game
Endlessly,
Engulfed in Flame.

Bleeding fire,
it runs in your veins, resembles your hair
its just always there.
You Bleed it, you seethe it,
it follows you wherever you run.
It taunts you, in its darkest form it flaunts to you
the most orange of flames reminiscent in every vision of yourself.
No matter what you do you're very image will forever be,
Bleeding Fire.

Cleansing fire,
its supposed to cure all that ails you
but instead it simply fails too.
Like all other things it just makes you feel darker
weak, limp, afraid..
The Fire is forever you're greatest fear,
because it reminds you of all you wish was not there,
the world that hides behind the veil you keep so tightly drawn about yourself
and the world that hides so neatly behind the veil sealed forever by one final power,
The Cleansing Fire.

God doesn't hide behind the heavens, if he exists at all he is with us
he is not quiet, he is not simple, he is not merciful
he is taut, and strict, he is justice,
he is Fire. He is Death. He is Life, He is resurrection. The beginning, the end.
But he is not I, he is not the living, nor is he the dead,
he simply watches, waits and eventually.. claims us.
He is the in-between, the one who seeks and finds, but never lives and never dies,
He is;
Cleansing Fire, Bleeding Fire, Engulfed in Flame, he plays with fire and Breathes Fire upon us.

And we are the ashes and the timber,
we await his touch, as logs awaiting the caressing flame of a fireplace
and once he finds us, we fall apart, we cripple, we end..
We are Ashes, we are what he has touched.. if he exists at all..
and i think he does.. just not as you hope he would be.

3 comments:

Sibyl said...

Whoa! :O

This is one hell of a brilliant piece! :O

(It's long yeah but I sorta wished it would've been even longer :D )

You play with words amazingly. Good job, keem 'em coming, will ya? :P

Poet In The Jar said...

I think the last stanza turned all the poem, like it when I have to wonder what a piece really is about, my opinion of that changed a couple times while reading. Very interesting piece I think, although I have pieces of yours I think are better in some weird way. :)

Ryan said...

it didn't feel like i wrote it.. but i did.. and its so.. SO very different.. but i love it