I can't keep asking myself
If I enter your mind
Because what if
The answer is
*No?

A thousand years from now,
the human race will find The Bird of Heaven,
and fall in love with such a beautiful creature.
Wings crafted of pure white, cascading
a variety of colors and shades over the
lands it gracefully soars across. It leaves
a sort of shimmer that mesmerizes all,
a glint in the eyes of those who catch a glimpse.
For some it is salvation from everything.
A thousand and ten years from now,
the human race will capture The Bird of Heaven,
and study this beautiful creature.
Wings are tattered up close, holes allowing
pockets of colors to fall through to the
lands below, casting a rainbow effect. It leaves
a residue that sticks to the skin and burns,
a tear in the eyes of those who suffer the touch.
For some it becomes a horror of nature.
A thousand and eleven years from now,
the human race will shame The Bird of Heaven,
and fall in love with the idea of such a beautiful creature.
Distance creates a false image, projecting
ignorant assumptions and misplaced awe upon
the people who allow themselves to believe. It leaves
a perfect picture of something not so perfect,
an image in the eyes of those who hunger beauty.
For some, they hunger beauty to own, not to cherish.
A thousand and twelve years from now,
a man might see The Bird of Heaven,
and love it from the inside out, and say,
*What a beautiful creature.

I think…

yes, I know, a dangerous pastime.
I was wondering silently among
the silent rolling hills and cowering the
booming tempest that has become
my mind. I stumbled upon your grave
once more. A small grot wedged
into the hillside, overlooked by the
darkest and loudest of storms,
flashing bright, illuminating, so that
I might never forget what lies here.
I sat with you and we exchanged words,
the grass above you whispering into
the wind, caressing my face once more,
but my heart does not sway like the
leaves of the Life Tree anymore. So
I found myself thinking…
about how very fragile trust is
about how little people put in one another,
but how quickly the blame burns blue.
A flame like that engulfs more than skin, dear,
it is still hungry after the house is gone
and the city sits in ruins. It came for you and I,
I can almost see it now, sitting among the rubble.
It took something from me, but left it in you.
I think my mother told me once,
that lone wolfs are alone for a reason,
and now I see why. But I digress…

I think…
the reason why the blue fire took me,
a simple notion that is clear to me now,
you couldn't trust, so you can’t be trusted.