Row 

It has been days and days since I wrote of you

But the words still gathered, just did not edge through

Fiercer now my claim describes
An inner flame, a fire, a tithe
My sacrifice will have to do

For I intend to belong with you. 

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Lord let me

Why, contemplation leaves me low

And bitter hearts still seek the cold.

I lose myself in time and sleep

An exhausted spirit is all I keep. 
So let me in to warm my feet

And sit awhile beside the flames. 

At once to rest and speak in peace

Forever safe in Your embrace. 
I nod my head and fire climbs high

My eyelids flicker low. 

I’m no longer out in the bitter cold —

You smile and drape over me Your coat. 

Burning free

I cannot speak for the cache of blood

Behind my throat and voice 

I cannot breathe for the hissing flood

Of death within my flesh. 
I am covered now in slate, and bitterness, and sin

I rip with ragged nails at all the ways I’m imprisoned

Ice chips, with frost, have covered all

The life I used to live. 

Please set me free with fire; I

Must bleed

Where now I petrify. 

It HURTS

Please, please

Don’t let them stay there!

Don’t let them writhe in agony

Forever. 

I don’t care what they’ve done— we’re all filthy sinners

Ragged and wretched, enraged

You clean us and mend us because we ask,

But they do not know! Do not truly understand!

How could You let them stay there, forever, bones full of twitching flame, screams wrought of iron and pain?

I am entranced with words, and

The anguish for their souls

Dies within me to a glowing cinder 

Inside the ribs which curl around my heart. 

Wreaths of smoke

Wisp away 

As the flesh burns, in pain

For souls it will never touch. 

You gave me words to fight the fear

To control the sympathy that threatens to flood my lungs and drown me

I am petrified in anguish at the thought of a single soul

Forever separated from You;

Yea, and I cannot fathom how much worse the pain is

for You, Father God. 

This Girl

There is this
Girl.

She twirls in front of dark windows
And stares out them
And she must be seeing her reflection.

For it is far too dark to see anything out there, other than her own deep eyes gazing back at her
Unless she’s imagining the world
And its billions of trillions of shards of souls, and soul-dust just floating, flickering, wicks of endless candle, simply showing off and spiraling in the darkness; maybe she sees flame, casting light where light by all rights should never be, because the Night owns some parts of the world; but there is the fire anyway, guttering but Alive, raking the shadows to shreds with its insistent rays, existing, twirling, spiraling with the joy of living and fighting and roaring quietly but persistently;

maybe that is what
The Girl sees outside her window
In the very very cold abyssal yawning night.

But I’m pretty sure
She just likes to dance in front of the darkened glass.

And maybe her own flame
Is fed by that dance.