The Flame
Is the only thing

We have.

Without it,
We are but

A shadow  
Fading
With the dawn.

A leaf
Cut from its
Tree.

A wave that has crashed
But with no sea
To return to.

The flame began
By chance;

All important things do.

I see the beginning in a
Droplet of dew hanging from the grass;

Soft angel breath's of a
Waking new born;

Or the lonely valleys
Whose names are lost for good.

Perchance I can one day understand
What the magic is we have at hand.
There are so many distractions these days,
That many seem to have lost their way.

I breathe.
I close my eyes.
I see a place with a name
That exists in another time.
I frame it to see it, but it
Is far past my vision.

This collision,
This friction of wishing,
Believing, hoping, dreaming,
Leaves me hopeless

And alone.

How can one be so caught up with a dream,
Yet live another life so far from that reality?

The flame dances inside a crystal holder.
Wax spills down from the heated smolder.
I see this and come to realize,
The flame stays the same, only I get older.

There the flame sits,
Deep within me.
I shine her keys.
I adhere to its wishes.
Went it's tired,
I do its dishes.

And we live like this.
Whistling through the cracked, dampened
Sidewalks,
Seeing with two pairs of eyes.
Taking turns when the other feels the need to sigh,
Brushing away the idea,
That everything up to now's been a lie.

When she goes away,
I'm lost and unseen.
And when she returns,
I'm too to tired to believe.

A day goes by.
And another does too.
Then soon, when her warmth has healed me,
I can sit down and begin, once again.

The Flame:
She rests underneath your pillow
And pushes the branches of the willow.
She cries into your shoulder,
As you cradle her head and
She's the baker at 3am
To brew your coffee and cook your bread.

And when she dies,
You will die.

And together, you'll live on,
Far past the eulogy, the tears, the sobs, and deaths decree.

You'll live within
The words, the tastes, the sounds, and the seams.

You'll live together weaving

Another's dreamer's

Dream.