Who Tends the Fire?
when we were speaking,
i liked how your words
filled my head,
like that of a bottle of intelligent wine,
each drop sparkling,
like topaz or amber,
the warmth of fire,
illuminating my senses
from the abyss
of mourning,
where i was in eternal thirst
for life
and the infinite ache,
of speechlessness,
the light of your words then,
caressed me with flames,
filled my heart with fire,
my painful voice
became stained with the love of you,
i wanted you to hear me,
how i longed to fill you,
but my words, were like smoke,
drifting beyond the twilight,
carried away by winds,
underlined by solitude,
i awoke suddenly, and realized,
you had gone
before i ever spoke
the first word,
before my words ever touched
your soul,
having written thirty-nine poems now,
i see myself forgotten,
yet remembered,
i love what you do not have,
what you left behind,
this is the fire
that will never warm you.
