MYTHS THAT FELL FOR MAN

To write of him in a way
that conveys
the incitement of the embers
inside:
how I’ve tried
tried
and I fear
says I
(a classic cop-out)
incapable to describe
the very essence of such that exists
within me
for its purpose seems limited to howling out
at an indifferent moon
fearful there should be
no reply.
reply.
Let me have, then
only this feral mouth
against the pink tones of his skin
the black of my eyes
the flat of my tongue
insatiable as any wild animal
yet still as powerless to Man
as they come.
My primal brain
throbs with fierce urgency
fighting its full captivity
for the receptive nature of his heat:
the sweetest heat
the immensity of fire
the splendor of the raging flames
racing through my soul…
oh, am I a fool
I fear
to so freely consider collapsing
at the beacon pyre
suddenly taking shape
in the cloistered wood
during the long dark of the hard night
’cause ain’t this the type
moths congregate aimlessly within
’til the conflagration comes
and they flock to, furiously beating wings
as if inside those tongues
they’ve discovered the shine that lights the way
to their transformation?
to divinity?
to heaven?

let me in…
let me in…
let me in…

(to destruction.)

These things tend to be
easier to immortalize:
the primordial urge
driven by principle function;
anything
for the sake of emotion.
God forbid I pause
rather to tear myself open
down to the colors of sentimental flesh
raw
blistered
and weeping…
what use
says I
am I then
but another carcass for consuming?

(Denied domestication
they trade their pith for ruin.)

I say this because
it seems I’m so incapable of
writing odes with more profound exposition;
so learned are we to equate such sentiment
with fear and disappointment
yet
his flame is of a different blaze
and merits a higher veneration
outside the confines of lust
and discouragement. 
In this
my capabilities are lost,
a shadow in a cave
the imitation of a higher form of creation.

Ah, Love.
Why so harsh
in thy wounding?
Perhaps
one day
I’ll re-adjust
and find a footing
above this incessant brooding
and there, will exist something
(finally)
perfectly worthy of him.

Jillian wrote this.

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