You danced to the beat
of my heart; child born of plans
destroyed by time's knife.
The knife that cut ties
with confusion - you wore at
your birth. It was death.
Stabbed me through the heart
until I saw light, glowing
past the flaming blade.
Bled out, close to death
I reached in, burning my hand
on the steaming blade.
Burned dry, ashes falling,
the blade writhed, a mirror born
of pain and cinders.
The mirrored blade cut
the reflected past away.
Would I burn this too?
Your laughter once pain,
Child of pain, child of joy, born.
I held pain too long.
Tormented no more,
we dance lit by burning blades
glowing gifts of flame.
Past, present, future,
once knives in my heart, become
warm glow in the hearth.
The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.