an ember tale:

The books burned in heaping piles.

Throwing swirls of grey into the night air.

The children didn’t know how many souls they

were burning, all just to keep warm.

I wasn’t about to tell them, an open fire,

a starry night, who am I to ruin the fun?

Why make a phylactery out of something that burns?

I never understood magic, maybe that’s why I’m here.

The city of traitors, a home fit for a liar’s tongue.

I always believed damnation would be intimate,

after all who can hurt you more than a lover?

Everything you ever desired was contained

within that reflection.

You never knew you were sacred.

All you ever needed was to exist.

Between the lines, inside the text.

Free from bloodless admonition.

Sanctified and holy.

But that never came to pass.

The sour wind blowing through the city.

Fans the slowly building flames,

you were never meant to be a wildfire.

It was enough just to burn.