They said, there, a door grows.
There, at the end of this valley,
Lays the end of all things closed.
They said there; spirits of fire,
Left a boy mangled
From his pyre, dangled
inside the flame that knows.
Moonlit quivers walked aside me,
Upon embers of old with the rock
cast in tears drowning to themselves.
A molten mirror came sight in that rock,
To show the night that knew not the stars
and constellations that know us ourselves
but Braille left untouched.
And in the quietude of unsettlement
amid the red rivers gyre,
Liars hid from the flame
pooling black-
A mantle rankling,
A child’s song;
-“I am cold”-
I walked the valley pass.
Listened to each leafs turn
In the drenched caves ears
that keeps time;
An overture to a heart beat,
Rising to the spires,
Veined into the volcanic rock.
Every crack an admission
Of the pulse,
Of a boy’s desolate fears.
A dance of mime;
In the aperture of crimson heat
Unfurling child’s desires,
Pained through the manic walk.
Every step the fission
Of the trust,
Gone in the wings of tears.
The night: a distant sail clinging to its rigging,
Undone in skeletal beauty surfacing from skin
A quiet myth to whisper from the grave-
The patience to believe in nothing.
And from this baroque of silence;
Salient this valley converged in another,
And a shadow of its cave,
Plunged and swayed-
Down.
In the stories and lives
of those that stole,
What he never knew.
They said the door was his fire.
An umbilical chord to the valley prophecy,
that left the silhouette of flames
In the kiss of his crazed eyes.
They said the red heat cries
when he becomes its flame,
Like the demise spread
when his sacrifice shed
him to be the keeper,
Of this night.
Ageless and mindful;
He remains
Their spirit.
In a chest lying deep
In burnt faces of his flesh;
A sonorous cackle
of a lone bone,
Fidgets restless in bedlam.
In the cask hidden
To his heart on the periphery
Of each echo sung from breath.
For the wish that never came.
The eye to a gem.
The peridot that glowed
In all the valley homes,
Grew dim.
They say he never sleeps.
That fear was his father,
Loneliness his mother,
Ardor a brother-
For giving him this name,
He can’t spell-
But will always keep.
They say too much.
To keep us away.
A tale. An allusion.
To keep us from him.
Shut eyed in smile.
Naked on his floor.
Innocence was his sin.
The tears sloping his skin;
Confuse him to blow on again
and begin the valley requiem.
Too alone to all the secrets he shadows-
A boy does dream
While sand smothers heat;
A boy does awake,
Still as the bone caught in his chest
And the inferno we see and hype
Is but an aurora of the cold chill,
Of a broken bone.
Left alone-
To endure the burn
of those that turned him for that stone,
Into a boy who wakes to the cold of death
in a cave of fire to sing to the night:
Tempt us to know a truth,
Within a door of fire.
Exodus and an abandoned soul
But not when abandoned to itself.
I walked back the valley pass
Through a night of stars,
I looked up from above
and saw more valleys
merge and wander
with the solace of
fossilized roots.
The night and land
came to be one
Panning headlong
Until in me sang
-‘I am cold’-
Then did I know,
The cruelty of
what we are
As what
we have made,
As man.
