There was a kindling, a flicker -
Way before the blooming of warmth -
It was there. Built up.
It was sticks and stones,
Bared to the elements -
And whispers crack the silence -
Perhaps in codes,
Perhaps straight arrows,
Not a promise of any tomorrow.
Quiet and waiting -
Then piercing the silence in me.
Perhaps an explosion.
Something that no one would hear or see,
Shrapnels and debris -
Cuts, bleeding, burns -
This destruction that could be
The inside of me.
The flame managed to crawl under my skin and I shiver.
Now I just stare and wonder -
After the ashes settle,
In the rubble, in the burning chaos,
In the embers of memory and haze,
Where will the fire leave me,
What comes after?