We came here faithful and wild eyed. Looking for answers as the smoke made rings around their heads. They were forgotten angels, forged in the heat and pressure of another storm. Beyond your memory is hidden a history far greater than can be told in words.
I lit a candle, burned it for 3 days to heal the pain. The color was liquid red and hot like the sweat that ran down your face as I was leaving. You were begging for change, and yet I had changed long before you knew. Why do they forsake the ones they love?
So they sing. They sing as the dark falls around them. A gentle cloak of raven black. There you can hear the words being whispered to silhouettes of strangers. Faces of marionettes suspended from memories. Make me up how you want to. Make them believe I was nothing and you were everything.
He wanted badly to touch the heart of the mystery. A dangerous soul who would rage against the gods. Fire could rain down. Prayers couldn’t protect him. There’s not map to guide you as you slip away into your own misery. Mock them as you run. They will taunt you. We can still pray… even though prayers are useless now.
If I can wake up and breathe again. Does that mean none of it was real? I might just be another memory. She said the white doves are calling to us now. We can walk on the edge of what was, and what will be. We can dance with the dead to feel alive again. There’s no shame in burning a candle… even if it can’t drown out the night.
I whisper one more time before its over. I touch my lips gently to the flame. Kissing the fire. Another form of passing. Wind catches light and pushes it into oblivion. A fragile soul is lost to the dark again. Snuffed out. No more light. No more life. I hope the prayers still burn brightly on the other side.
© Shaheen Miro