How to start a fire

I wrote these words the other night after talking to my brother about conflict in artistry...and the never-ending restlessness that comes with it.

To shine a light,
there must be darkness.

To consume by passion,
we must spread like wildfire.

To keep from burning out,
we must burn solid wood,

To start a fire,
we need a little kindling,

For there to be light,
Requires ignition,

To spark the match,
there must be friction,

Passion.

Is it just me, or does the idea of passion being this ever-burning flame in the heart of one who longs to lose everything to find our way in life seem absurd? Passion is a struggle...it's a release and an escape. A journey and a destination. Home and a hotel. Don't mistake it for anything else.

There is no war

I feel the weight of cynicism pushing down on my shoulders.
The wings I'm wearing aren't strong enough to fly out of the black abyss.
A visit from the past unlocks pandora's box and up rolls the castle door,
Tears build a lake around the walls of my heart,
floating armor and skeleton bones where there once lie empty space.

Roaring lions seek to devour my soul,
and left what remains hiding inside the castle walls,
For my tear-soaked acid rain drove cupid's soldiers to a foreign land.
The wellspring chasm of aches and pains flowing out into the trenches that lie just outside,
graze the ceiling of the only bridge left.

That legendary fallen angel turned serpent hangs around the gate throughout the day.
Begging for my soul's spare change to get that one last high.
No daring knight in shining armor has seen the beast here,
but he knows no use comes from a castle conquest,
whose prize is bankrupt estate, soiled property, and a blank stare.

Interlude

Dimming lights,
a melody fills the room.

Another love scene,
Another fallacy with a tune.

Exchange of words,
"I love you", " don't ever let me go."

Yearning hearts until the end of the show.

The curtain drops as goodnight yields
red velvet brushing the edge of bliss,

Held together by a golden rope,
released gently with each tender kiss.

Snowflake

If only I could
catch the snowflake,
Heaven-sent,
Melting, falling.

The cloud I sit upon
Will never be cold enough.

But then, if only when,
I could see her beauty,
As transformation,
Perfectly to earth's ground.

I'll need a canvas of darkness,
whom should find a brush,
To paint the scene beneath her,
While softly she dies.

Resting comfortably,
Kindred, in the field of snow.

Restrained here in the sky,
Above the radiant sun,
Below the heavens,
There is no evening for my soul.