The Last Poem I Wrote For Her

by August 7, 2009 0 comments

Loving her was like loving fire.
Hot, beautiful, primal,
a terrible burning in the heart.

Not like loving earth,
something solid,
a place to stand,
to plant the feet
and grow things.
A love to live upon.

Nor was it like loving air.
Something you can breathe in
and relax surrounded by.
A cool evening breeze
that blows on through
lending a certain comfort
along it’s way.

It wasn’t even like loving water
drank in
swallowed up
a love that satiates,
can be survived upon
that cools, revives,
is the essence of life.

No,
loving her was like loving fire
and loving fire is a madness.
You want so badly to touch
it’s amazing incomprehensible
irresistible flame,
but it’s fire,
and even a lovely gentle fire
does but one thing;
consumes that which feeds it.
It only destroys.
Because, that’s what fire does.
No matter how exquisite
beautiful or enthralling,
It burns.

Loving her was like loving fire
and it consumed me
and scarred me
and burned away at my soul
until I was all burned up.
like a walking volcanic phantom,
sweltering ash in her wake.

May 30, 2009

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