The Fires are Coming.: February 2011

Beside the tidal wave of memory

your form appears,

cursed blackbird.

We knew our destiny but
You said we would do it

You wrote the words on sand

You wrote the words with your plume hand

Years later I am here,

I am here still

I am doing it

I am without stop,

Without tears

I am unyielding

I am eternal

I am my own world

I am alone

Without fear

Where are you now?

Flying above waters unknown?

Did you find escape from the escape?

Are you now pronounced in the mundane,

well versed in the everyday,

doing your best to forget the ancient language

you once spoke?

By your own hand,
by your own black wing

you shuddered at the sound,
shuddered at the wind,

You, chasing fugue
in your noir dreams,

You flew on
You, dreaming on the ocean
You, gone.

The Fires are Coming.