Poetry of a Conlanger

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


I run away and run away and r u n a w a y . . .
And there it is,
My existence.
There it stands, waiting for me.
The familiarity of it all brings
Bitter tears
To my eyes.
If I could only find the words, I’d thank you.
Still struggling with how to express my gratitude,
I hardly notice how they lift me
And slam me against the
On its high platform.
And oh, the beautiful irony,
You yourself knot the coarse rope that binds me to my fate,
You yourself take the torch up, and
Slowly, deliberately,
Set alight the straw at my feet.
How can I thank you?
Fire, beautiful fire!
How was I alive without it?
The flames rush up,
Faster, sweet fire, faster!
Consuming the straw,
Now they lick them hem of my loose gown.
The flames reach to me and inspire me- now I know how to thank you.l
I meet your eyes with my ash-cold glare,
But only for a second,
For now the bright fire engulfs me.
I open my mouth,
And with my
Painful, tearing, rending screams echoing,
I burn
With thanks.


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