The Flame
Eyes, they say are windows to the soul.
I gaze into yours and ponder
Why you guard your truth.
Sometimes, I see a glimpse
of remembered warmth
but soon, the shades are drawn
and I am alone again
craving the heat of that flickering flame
still smoldering behind closed doors -
wondering at the reason it burns so low.
What remembered pain is worth dimming
The heat of a fiery heart?
Would one not risk it all to feel again?
The exquisite pleasure of being one with the blaze,
even at the danger
of being consumed?
of being consumed?
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