the lingering embers of the hearth

my eyes burn.

i see not the vivid dreams,

but my own face.

and in it, eyes, those little dots that bind

the burnt darkness

to the unfettered white clouds.

my eyes burn.

i watch the birds go high,

tilting upon the wind, asking nothing of the ground.

could i speak to them?

look deep into their eyes,

for i would feel the grave solitude that lies beneath.

my eyes burn.

the solitude i seek is not my own,

nor yet the bird’s.

does it matter much whose solitude i wish to encounter?

in the end, the only gaze that beholds me

is the silent solitude.

no matter how swiftly i sealed my eyes,

i did reach the graveyard.

the glossy fire could not burn

what i felt.

my eyes burn.

what i carried within is what became of me.

the earth absorbs all.

what remains is the last feeling.

i did choose mine.

a gentle and kind touch of nature.

i lay it down.

my eyes did burn.

yours need not.