Fire

I had to love you until the fire burned all the way out.

I gave breath to the embers, begged the coals to stay alive.

And when only the smoke remained, I cowered and hid.

Finally, laying what was left in a pile of ash outside.

I found peace in the daze of smoke and fog,

The unknown felt kinder than the typical unrest.

When the haze lifted, the pestilence took over.

I felt the lonely set in and whisper delusions of what’s next.

There were days I carried ghosts upon my back,

Convinced others could see them, I didn’t know how to relax.

Cowering behind self-punishment, crying out, hoping to find meaning.

I became fixated on justifying the remnants.

There were days I spoke to depression as if only she understood.

We wept together in the evenings, stoking embers, pouring gas.

I was exhausted from trying, burned out, unraveling.

Medicated by the fumes, delirious, searching for comfort in the heat.

I never understood why the flame burned blue,

As the fire grew higher, my heart grew wilder.

It felt heavy every morning and every afternoon.

Sometimes bitterness burned brighter than the moon.

I fought hardest in the winter, holding my breath.

Exhaled in the summer, but still burning what was left.

It was always a hard winter, with a slow summer burn,

Stars found their way in the evenings, red moons, and dry earth.

It was never so lonely as that winter when the clouds encased the sky.

Even ever-present, the snow never fell.

I couldn’t get a visit, even from the stars,

My eyes dimmed from the nothing; I barely survived.

It was quiet at night, though storms ruled the days,

I found solace in scripture as the pain kept me awake.

My prayers scared the demons, but my pride helped them stay,

Still, Glory to God, He made a way.

When I left that shelter, so dreary and small,

I reached for better, and God granted it all.

He found me haunted and gave me relief.

Rebuking my endeavors, renewing my belief.

Now I burn strong wood; it lasts without much tending.

It burns for hours without needing more logs.

My winters are warm, my summers are bright.

It’s steam, cedar, and lilac, bright stars, without fog.

A steady, clean fire restores all that was ever lost.

-AB -