They said the rain would drown it—
that flames don’t last in storm
But still it burned, a quiet light
refusing to conform

The wind threw every sorrow
the night forgot its name
yet there it stood—
still trembling
a heart disguised as flame

Love didn’t ask for mercy
nor beg the skies to clear—
it burned not for the world to see
but just to persevere

And when the world forgets you—
'your laughter, tears, and pain,'
just like the ember that—
still burns in the rain
Let love be what remembers you
Be the heart that stays—
Always.


Erennwrites

Summer nights had lost their luster
As a million fireflies dim their embers;
Only in nostalgia could we glance
Those scenes where they once danced

Lost are their glimmer—
The forests mourn their partners
For they've taken its tiny souls
Mystic glows that made them whole

Their embers were put to rest,
And murk swallowed these blessed;
Their shine that wanes to bloom
Now forever sleeps in gloom.

As tears pour out relentlessly,
a cold ember of desperation
fills my aching lungs,
desperate for a fraction of warmth
that the once lit flame provided.

The water pulls me in deeper,
scattering the pathetic remnants
of the depths of devotion,
that ache for you.

And as sunken eyes
akin to the bequeathed stars above,
call out your name through the
torments veiled by moonlit waters,

The silent sea cradles
what now are just chronicles,
of my drowning woe.

Playing with rocks,
Digging in socks,
Playing with spades in the sand.

The metal is hot
When the fire green fox
Steps on and burns up your hand.
There’s a hole in your chest.
Did you do your best?
There’s no one to fill in your grave.

Your now lonely friend
Will die in the end;
The one friend that you couldn’t save
Will be found at the end of his cave.

love to see your smile but only when it’s coated by my love
hate to see you violent but my love will calm the rough
jokes that make you giggle until you forgot how grave it was
to be a passing ship in a sea of storms
this was happenstance, yet we cannot ignore
the embers that burn, the tables we turn
the shells we found on our own

Aircraft blazin' fuel
Aboon, "done-with's" grave floods sight,
A calm midnight rain,








The mind racing. Why

Must the nurtured be blind eye
Wilie McTell? Pain.

The mind racing, on
A smile,
Lonesome star in opaque
Darkness, Freedom

From label. Freedom
From responsibility.
Freedom from action,
                                      Is this noble,
                         Or a jester's play in chess?

Oh, must I turn my fist to face aloft,
Straighten my clenched fingers, present you
Burning embers of admiration, that for so long
Have been stitched into my palm,
Gifted from a passive voyager afar,
Weary, to announce affection,
For a grasp can only
                         Last as long as
                                              Two hands want to clasp.

                                                         ­                      What is on your mind?







                                                Airc­raft blazin' fuel
                                                Aboon, "done-with's" grave floods sight,
                                                A calm midnight rain.

                                               A chance to breathe.

                                               Be my Sheppard.
                                               Lead
                                               Me to pastures of serenity
                                               To graze in, until my eternal slumber.
                         That's where I want to be.

The surface remains intact.
The heart remains intact.
Each culminating inch of frame and cell,
Vowed upon and burnt through to the cinder,
Is now frozen, ashen mass.
Yet, the mere image is once again—
It is truly built upon—
And, even with no ember, remains intact.