It is raining as I write this and it feels like a song is playing with the rain. I cannot hear the words or make meaning of this song even if I could hear it but I feel the rhythm and tempo of the song, I understand the fire that drives it and the need it strives to fulfil.
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It is wierd to speak of fire in the falling of rains but the fierceness of a storm can be compare to the heat in the blood of an angry man, a woman cuddled beneath the sheets, a mob before the police. Something propels us, animates us, makes us glow.
When the rain stops, the soil will be moist and cold and little boys will dig their feet into the sands to create sandcastles or they will shake homemade fishing lines inside flooded gutters as little fishes flicker about. When the rains stops, the fire will cease to burn in the soul of the world and maybe the world would sleep or maybe the fire never really dies. Maybe it is just banked to glowing embers, waiting for another push, another need to turn the wheel of the seasons again.
I feel as if this fire is something I lost. It pains me that I do not remember when. To feel heat coursing through my veins, to feel the need to turn the wheels of my life, to push and pull at the skein of the universe, is something that I have lost.
I see the spark in my brother's eyes when he speaks of clothes, sewing machines, pockets, button holes and all the inanities that perpetuate a tailor's dreams. I felt it in the tremor on my ex girlfriend's skin as she spoke of marriage and children, job security and family. I hear it in my friend's voice when he speaks of money and business, investment and savings. I know what it is but I do not feel it in me.
I do not know what is wrong but I am cold inside. It is as if the fire that propel man to greatness or to ruin burnt to dusty ash inside of me and the ashes spun in the wind and travelled to distant places. Sometimes when people set afire their eyes with the visions they have of tomorrow, I sense what I have lost. It is like a magical power that was taken from me before I knew what it was. How did this happen?
Time and time again, I have questioned myself. I have searched the nooks and crannies of my soul, seeking to understand what I have become but the answers are not there. I have now become a leach, a blood sucking boneless thing.
I feed off the fires of those around me. I burn sometimes but I know the fire is not mine. I know the fire is stolen and that it will not last. The moment the source of the flame leaves my presence, I begin to whittle and slowly my little flame is snuffed out.
I have been alone for two months now and I have gathered how cold I have become. I have come to understand how much I have come to depend on the fires of others to feel warm. It is why I am always where the music is loudest, the drinks are coldest and the laughter is heartiest. I have come to realise my lack but I cannot weep.
I cannot grieve for what I never knew I had. I have never truly held the steering wheel of my ship and steer a course for myself. I have let my ship steer itself and if I have not sunk beneath the storms, treachery and rocky teeth that beset this sea called life, it is just luck, ordinary luck.
I do not write to complain. I seek to bare to you my heart so maybe you will understand me as one understands an author's intent in a novel. Maybe you will grasp what I am and not judge my actions too much. It is said understanding an enemy is the first step to winning the battle. Understand me then judge me as you see fit.
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The rain has stopped. Birds twit and call after their mates. The sky still rumbles and little drops still fall from leaves and corrugated roofing sheets but the fire has banked to a glowing ember. At least I can sense the fire outside myself but I feel nothing in the place where a fire place should be in me. I feel nothing. Do you understand me?
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**Image was created by me on the Yourquote app. Poem therein is absolutely mine.**
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©warpedpoetic, 2019.