To be coy, the unprecedented keeps arriving at my door with gifts unannounced.
A match stricken, smelling of lilac instead of sulfur, lights a wick that has been lit for aeons.
Fire that cannot be ignited by the strike of a flint or muddled with hellfire burns a candle of long sung preservation.
The flame that can never be extinguished.
It's been obscured, keeping me from seeing a candle of primordial wax.
The flame burns all colors of the soul.
As the dancing tongue of the salamander licks the wick clean, the burning solidifies the candle as a pole freezes the caps in time.
Fate knocked down my door and set my house blazing in an inferno that does not eat at the walls.
Residue of her lips remain on mine soul from the time of kingships and priesthoods.
Forgotten how to talk, have I while fending of the deplorable.
The first act of this life was spent in intermission.
Excuse my while I clear my throat and finish my song to her.
© Sebastian Grey