A poem by me
2006-02-10 18:04:04 ET

Pyromaniac Son

I have this picture of you
all dressed up in childhood
playing house as children do.
I always played the mother
and you the child.
I accepted your feeble, childish gifts
knowing you could give no better,
and you adored wide-eyed
the mother who kept you safe
believing that no abuse would exhaust my love for you.
Spring now turned to winter
and orphaned are we in the pale chill.
your wildfires burned our playhouse to the ground, my pyromaniac son.
Separated in the panic we are wandering in the ashes.
Greyish soot cakes our feet; What have you done?
The fire you promised to tend has been drowned out beyond my salvation.
All the matches are gone; burned in the fire left wild in the wind.
All we had is charred, dripping cold icicles in the winter gales.
Silence has settled upon this pyre.
Let us leave it undisturbed.

Southernmost ~ The Lucksmiths

"Remember when forever seemed just fine?
Seen through glasses of rose coloured wine
They’d sit up all night talking
Now she’s sound asleep to the sound of his walkman

And every single weekend
The divide between them deepens
A curse across the kitchen
He might still be within spitting distance
But there’s only one way to find out..."

2006-02-10 18:37:52 ET

my gifts are feeble?

2006-02-10 18:45:29 ET

What the hell?

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