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Paul Idiaghe Dec 2020
There’s a holocaust
sweeping through my body
but i call it
love,

strap myself to its stake
as a sacrifice, relish
how its fire

dignifies me,
how the tongue-like torso  
of my scent
rolls out to taste
God.

You, with the hot air
for hair, you
with the sparking skin,
feed my flames,
you

hearteater, the mouths
on your cheeks
open wide
& I enter, as if to join
the rest of me; see

how all that is left
circulating in my veins
is your voice; my body,
now inanimate,

an instrument for your
heartsong—hear
its cinders sing like
cicadas—here

is the sequel to your stones
thrice striked.
lillie Nov 2020
warmth and
kindness is
embodied
in the flames
that keep you
from tripping
in the dark.

it can protect
as well as
keep you
away from
being harmed.

her loving and
everlasting glow
shall be
touching to those
invited to stay
at a place called home.
Dedicated to my Matron, Hestia, goddess of the hearth ♡
min Aug 2020
i’ll be waiting
in this forsaken hearth
where there is
no more fire left
to give me warmth.
i’ll wait until the sun rises
or until it sets.
i’ll wait until the rain stops
or until it pours more.
i’ll wait until it’s noon
or until it’s already four.
i’ll wait until you come back
or until I lose myself
in this cold, cold night.
oh, beloved —
salvage me tonight;
or else, I’ll fall apart.
i am fond of using anaphora. it’s one of my favorites.
Proctor Ehrling Sep 2019
I'm barely at home
There's my wooden furniture
These my plates of chrome
A fridge full of nourishment
My marble dome
But I'm barely at home

I've barely a hearth
This a room of my choosing
That there my land on earth
My book shelf for musing
Amenities for mirth
But barely a hearth
I don't have any place to feel at home... Freestyle written in 6 minutes.
blushing prince Sep 2019
there is a moth that resides on my bedside table
inside the warm lamp like a womb
like an endearing cozy hand
reaching for your face in the middle of a frozen hysteria
he rises from his bed of light every night
a bottom floor full of mirth and fuzz
ready to relay the songs of his memories
slow dancing in the small space of my room like he's memorized where the floor slants and what parts creak
his mouth moves in a jagged frenzy and I am devoured inside the falsetto of a pregnant hum so constant my breathing loops in significant O's
he waits for my eyes to close so that his wings open up
moving the dust to gather itself and move to another part of the house
the fluttering in sync with the wavering of the hypnotic sound waves
the antennae sighing along with the mist outside slowly forming on the windowsill
my head becomes a hot sun and as the beads of sweat trickle he moves closer until he reaches with spindly legs
drying the perspiration from my forehead with a tongue that shushes me to sleep until I am still in a cocoon of silk
telling me that want and need are always the same things
always the same things
i submitted this into a contest but I think I'd rather just post it here
William Allen Apr 2019
Closing the book
wherein I laid
my memories,
I rest the tireless pen
atop the aged leather.

The fire, still roaring,
Looked more alluring.

I nestled by the warmth
of the charred hearth

The flames crept slowly out
to embrace my body
taking me in.

Fuel for the fire
I give myself
to the pyre.
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