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Aug 2014
to touch it could prove fatal.
but on the eve of winter's dawning..
the embers thawing the barrier between us,
we lay and watch the flames licking at our skin.
autumn nights after the football game
dancing circles around the sparks
holding hands and searching for answers..
in the burnt kindling surrounded by rocks.
slices of stationary, perfumed like lilacs
we write our condolences and regrets with feather quills
then, stretching out in the center of the street
we light ablaze our lost words, a sacrifice to Hephaestus.
there is a force so powerful and quiet;
it tiptoes up behind us and leaves us charred,
it leaves ashes...
but it is also the sweetest release
feeding from oxygen and life
blackening everything it comes in contact with
and while creating new what once was broken,
it demands respect.
Written by
     quiet is violent
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