Smoke in the Kitchen

I thought if I stared at the picture long enough, I could see

I could see where your mind was, why your heart wasn't there

I stared for so long that it all became a blur, and my own face...

It seemed to be the face of a woman I no longer know at all.

Where did THAT smile come from... and where did it go?

Things get better... but can they ever be THAT good again?

 

And the photograph of you and me rose up in flames...

Charred paper in the sink, foul smoke in the kitchen...

Nothing more...

 

I thought if I read them aloud, those words I wrote to you,

I could write them anew, make you feel them too, make them real

I read until my voice hurt, and realized that no matter where you were

You couldn't hear a word I said, never had... even from a foot away.

Where did THOSE words come from... and where did they go?

Inspiration comes.... now and again... but will it ever be like THAT again?

 

And the poems I wrote for you rose up in flames...

Charred paper in the sink, foul smoke in the kitchen...

Nothing more...

 

I wash my hands, wash the ashes down the drain...

Suddenly I feel so small, and it's as though I could wash myself

Right down that tiny hole into the sewer, amidst our remains

I wash my face and never feel as clean and fresh as I used to

Never can wash the soot of what we were away completely

And day breaks... but will it ever break like THOSE days broke again?

 

And my entire soul rises up, a flickering, waning flame....

Charred paper in the sink, foul smoke in the kitchen...

And something MORE...

 

It took a moment for the Phoenix to arise from beneath the ashes.