Only Light

A poem.

Only Light

It’s four o’clock in the morning,

and the demon eyes peer across my dresser,

glowing red.

Somewhere across the oceans of hereafter,

David whispers low and strong:

“My days are consumed as smoke.”

As are mine. Smoke, twisting,

spinning slowly against the brilliant blue sky.

The smell of burning leaves,

of the crispness of autumn, fills my head

and I hear the muted

crackle of flames that lick the air,

feeding slowly on collected memories.

Time is so brief,

with so many lifetimes to fit into one living.

I feed myself into the fires of time,

consumed

and passing into history

while remaining, somehow, ever present.

“Then shall it be for a man to burn.”

To give himself to the time

he has and make sure to make it most.

No tears here, for there’s

no time;

love must rush onward,

a memory I’ll never savor,

a regret I’ll never lament.

There is no time for tears within this torrid tide.

Water rushes around me,

clear and full,

inviting me to dive into its rage –

and I would have,

but my days are consumed, leaving

me with no substance.

If I were to dive in,

I would leave no ripples.

If I were to dig in, I would leave no hole

for I am burning out

of the memory of time.

I might blaze brightly

for just a moment in your eyes,

leaving an image

on the backs of your lids,

but eventually I become a wisp of smoke.

Leaving no trace.

A vapor, fleeting, I am gone.

“Then shall it be for a man to burn.”

To give my all in this lifetime,

to leave no ashes,

to burn pure and whole.

This is my mission –

no remnants.

Only light.

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