2004-12-10 - 11:21 a.m.
she said she doesn't like love poems. doesn't wanna hear public declarations of loves recently kindled like freshly lit fires in a faux fire place...
you have no idea what is about to happen and there you are standing proud and strong, bragging on your accomplishment.
i listened.
considered.
wondered.
then thought.
so what!
who has the right to say that it was not a fantastic fire while it lasted contained in the clay box that wished it was stone,
but knew it could never be.
that it didn't give us the most delightful warmth just before the flames melted away the plaster
and the paint
and the walls.
who's to say that the magnificence of the flames is not what made me stay and watch them burn much longer than i should have.
knowing i was tempting logic and rationality,
i stayed and basked in this inferno.
consuming me
until i could no longer breathe,
or see,
or take it any longer.
and is it wrong,
was it all in vain?
yes, the fire is gone now,
yes, i've lost much in it's wake,
but i remember what the flames felt like
hot on my neck,
my back,
my feet.
and i do remember enjoying it before it started suffocating me.
i think i even paused to contemplate my own tolerance for asphyxiation before running for air
and freedom
and life.
and it did inspire me to write poetry and speak metaphorically,
because we're talking about love,
after all,
and not actually a fire.
so who cares if neither one was real?
beacuse, for the moment,
you were right there with me
and you believed
because you thought i believed
and in a land where too few
have too little to believe in...
that's gonna have to be good enough
every now and then.
