The Fire Within

For many long years I've seen darkness where once there shone a blinding light, i threw the logs of months on time's fire that blazed into the night, stoked them with a bar of weeks and days, the sparks of seconds flew to where the night sky meets eternity's black and infinite haze, leaving nothing, not a single loving sight on which to gaze.

Still i stand here long forsaken, in spite of the sinners tired from taking, who question how a man so lost and cold, could survive without the warmth to which they hold. My longevity is the product not of their fires, or their light, but of a fire that burned deep and quietly within my aching heart, a fire of love and hope that burned a part, of a soul so bereft of a caring word or Cupid's dart.

The streets of my pain are long and winding, the sirens sing in ways forever finding, the tune that keeps me on their trail, like a dog in search of that familiar, yet elusive tail. Dimly lit houses of memories cast a mocking glare, revealing the mistakes and regrets that live there, but i can see beyond the streets tonight, to where the hills brush the heavens, the stepping stones of clouds, pinhole stars, and half-penny moon that reflect a life of epic wonder. On this night, I'm free from the burdens that life can often bring, and bask in the contentment lit, from fires that rage within.