0.00
(0 votes)
You must login to vote
|
|
|
I would have pulled him in.
I would've.
But my friend pulled him away,
far away.
He would've burned.
We both would.
I have been drawn,
drawn upon with lead
and other colours grey,
wadded up and cast toward flame.
I would've pulled him in two.
Some are set to frame,
cold summer night
mis-written upon
mistaken for another.
There is outrage in a fire.
I know. I know.
How can I compare fire to light?
Fire fades, okay?
Light stays and stays.
I still would've, you know?
I could tell you of holes dug
in which no light shines.
What would you say?
Well? What would you say?
There is ash.
White dirty ash and dead embers.
Leavings.
Traces.
Even weightier things than these.
I would have pulled him in.
Or pushed.
Would it have mattered?
But my friend...
|