Simplicity

Fire burns

only to die.

Not a slow, quiet life

but a raging flash,

imprinted upon us

as unforgettable.

I hold this pen

and I don't quite remember.

Things worked before,

at least I thought they did

somehow,

yet how could they?

Fire burns

only to die.

Not only in our eyes,

but in our minds,

and our hearts.

Where things should be immortal

and yet they fade, too.

The paper seems to stare back

or perhaps that's just me.

Judging the words that

I haven't even said,

invisible forms of white

burned into the darkness

of my mind.

Fire burns

only to die.

Not to be remembered,

but to exist

in as beautiful a way

as it knows how.

Words come out of nothing.

But their meaning is nothing, too.

The fire is gone now,

perished to its own effulgence

and here I am

left with only a memory.

And with it,

it took the sheet of paper

full of the words I never said

to the people I couldn't see

because they stood in the shadows

and fire only burned as bright

as it knew how.