fireheart
we were a flower cut from its roots -
a facilitated beauty for your dining room table.
like quicksand
despite how much we tried to break free
from your choking hold, your suffocating grip
we sunk, and fell
slowly
so slowly
our shoes were caked in mud
but yours were tinged
in blood, in tears
and when you encrusted them
with your diamonds and gold,
as if you could eclipse the pain
with jewels that had lost their luster
too long ago,
you merely anchored yourself
to the sinking ship
that you seemed to captain
with both eyes closed.
you were an earthquake -
not the gentle sway
of glass chandeliers,
not the slight tremor
beneath our feet.
but the shift and the damage -
not a fleeting sensation, not a passing awe
but a precursor to an eruption.
and when the aftershocks came
when the volcano shed her tears
when she mourned the blood
that mutilated your hands,
when she grieved you -
cursed your reign of terror,
she bestowed hell’s infernos
upon the earth, upon you
to cleanse -
to renew.
and while the earth learned to swallow its flames -
when it cleaned our shoes but left the stains
placed the flowers in marked graves
and watched it grow, grow, again
beneath this auspicious light -
you toyed with the fire
and shook off its cinders
as if you had won, persevered
as if the volcano burned for you,
as if the gods prayed for you,
as if the world bowed to you.
if you push the world too much -
subjugate her, bend her to your will,
she will eventually push back
in equal force, equal strength.
so don’t be surprised
that you are the one who broke.
- anon