I felt the heat before I saw the flame
Subtle
A slight rise in temperature
A resulting misty sheen
A giggle and a couple glances
It builds
Boiling beneath the surface of skin
It becomes a secret place of whispered promises and quick yet increasingly longer embraces
Slowly as one lays the foundation and puts down the welcome mat
The heat brings forth a blazing red hot flame
All consuming, disastrous even
The arsonist was disguised by the charming comforting heat that he emitted
His fire seeps through the cracks reclaiming it all and leaving vivid blackened scars
In its wake lies missed opportunities, unsaid secrets and an air of contempt
The foundation crumbles as the scorched welcome mat is reduced to insignificant powdery ashes scattered by the passing breeze
And so it stood, a smoldering shell of what it had been
Its smoke concealed yet forever constant

How silly was I
To ignore the treasures of your soul and the gifts of your presence
How silly was I
To mistaken what’s precious and timeless for a cheap thrill
How silly was I**
To abandon a glimpse of an unimaginable dream for a dismal reality

Quite a while it has been
Since the tsunami of my mind washed up the shore
Since the waves of my emotions and experience touch the surface, disturbing the sand
Yet still, the land is still scarred from my past presence
On its shore lay the sea shells of my hurdles, boulders and trials
Scattered here and there, bits and pieces of everything that has interacted and become a part of me remain
A discarded white rose, a soggy diploma, a tattered stuffed animal
And as I’m molded by time and pollution
Despite how long my tide may take to come in
It will come back and with stories and salt to tell of my time away

How can one be simultaneously emotionally barren yet still feel?
When it all comes to a crescendo and the ****** is resolved
I find a sweet release coupled with a bitter after taste
As the fascinating flavor remains constant on my tongue
I try to release, to interpret, to feel, to taste normally
To rid my tongue, my heart, of this inevitable condiment
Yet it remains, it lingers, as thorn in my neck

To remind me of the days of frolicking in the garden
And of being the one red rose in a field of weeds
But pity did I know, that my leaves fell, my petals became discolored, and my stem leaned to a side
And soon I too was encompassed in weeds
Pity did I know, that all the weeds I saw before, were once roses
How ironic
And I join them as another arises
One that started as a suspicious bud
Yet it blossomed unbothered
And became a beautiful white rose, in a field of weeds.

So eagerly we purge, So blissfully we fall
Not with flailing limbs or even a strangled gasp
But with gusto, a flip and a peaceful smile on chapped lips

So clumsily we string and tune the fiddle of our hearts
And prepare a symphony of fragile trust and unearthly longing
A requiem of our own with an inevitable crescendo

I fell
Not for your smirks or one-liners
Not for the dimple in your  right cheek
Or the twinkle in your eyes when you speak
No
I fell for the version of you I fabricated in my head
Which led to a bittersweet feeling when we came to an end

Remember,
Entwined and tangled , knotted in your embrace
Skin to skin , nerves aligned
Whispered promises and unspoken vows
Phantom memories and faded thoughts
A string of words  with meanings lost

Yet so quickly,
A strangled breath with so much said
Shielded eyes moist with regret
Trembling fingers , quivering shriek
Struggle with doubts never voiced and hesitantly revealed

The voice that speaks the language of my bones.
It tunes the strings of the orchestra my words
And so it plays a ballad so sweet , of my past memories and paths I have yet to foresee
In the paint of tears , of joy and despair , it paints  pictures that I must bear
No facades and veiled lies can scrub or mask the truth of this gallery of my own

This soul of mine an artist and a thief
To steal what I hold dear , what I so tediously have hidden
It unravels the string of shrugs , eyerolls and sarcasm
And publicises my diary of things I swore never to reveal

Its a long wait , we sit , converse , create bonds but yet we all board
The line is endless yet its length is hidden
By mists of happiness and facades of forever and always

       We forgot about our tickets and unaware of our departure time , we envelope ourselves in the hysteria of the station

    A seemingly endless vast space yet we know not of the distances covered by the train

The winding path built with the metal of dreams lost , forgotten, thrown away  and hammered with the harsh tears of the passengers
Some of joy, of ignorant bliss, yet still they fall on the alloy of wishes    

     But still the eternal ticket collector , a man of few words and frequent appearances, unceremoniously forces you in
And the metal door shuts

   The train speeds off as the boarders cling on to their seats and the conductor shares his signature grin as his skeletal hands grips  the wheel

   And his oddly shaped  cane with a sharp curved metal end rests across his legs neatly on his ironed black cloak

We tend to not appreciate it,
To ignore the calls of our winged friends,
To scorn the helpful and forgiving earth that holds the seeds of time,
To frown at the kind and sometimes harsh tears of the land,
To taint the once pristine surface with deception and broken promises.

As I sit, I feel the mournful wind as it carries the dry dead leaves to forbidden places.
I see the clouds frown and growl, their pallors darkening with bottled up anger , fuming , waiting, for an unforgiving outburst.
I feel a slight chill in the air , foreseeing a cold and ruthless near future.
Finally ,our winged companions flee, leaving us stranded in our selfishness.

Now I sit , and wait
Waiting for the sky to open with a smile of vengeance , to release upon us our well deserved undoing.

I raise my arms prepared for the blow , my last stand, but it doesn't come.
All that anger , all that sadness went as swiftly as it came, gone with the wind.
And out comes the sun , with its redeeming and forgiving light, Illuminating each surface , filling each recipient with a sense of regret ,  guilt
But that too becomes unimportant as we gather our tools of pain, prepared for another sunny day of betraying the forgiving nature as we swing , chop , throw away, deceive and manipulate like the cruel beings we've now become