ashes and devils.
battling the one
has made me the other.
struck a match and the pyre blazed.
i am no more than dust
and the devils laughed.
i expected (as i went down in flames)
to see them all red, with goatees
pitchforks
and tails and horns.
but alas…
they looked - like me.
and where were you?
dressed in black, crying over my
self-made
urn
with your son sighing, “why did i bother?”
i lied.
they lied.
my eyes lied.
the only one that told me the truth -
you.
but the devils (my evil twins)
they sounded reasonable, didn’t they?
“nothing matters. you
are damaged goods anyway.”
so i burned.
billows of smoke rising to an overcast sky -
even the stars found me ugly
and closed their rain-filled eyelids.
if i am resurrected, won’t the devils
live again?
such a circle of comedy.
of tragedy.
no.
no phoenix-dream for me.
scatter the ashes to the wind.
let my dust and devils blow away
to make room for something new…
