I use to imagine being a warrior
whose being was entirely engulfed.
With a silver knights’ suit like King Arthur,
a lack of prudence as a result.
I enjoyed being made of fire.
I reveled in the noise and the laughter.
I turned a blind eye to the blatant truth,
and showered in my fading youth.
The rain which stormed liquor,
made the core of my flames thicker.
I danced with no sense of precaution.
I danced with no feeling of exhaustion.
And as the fleeting hours gone by,
the fires reached an abnormal high.
Despite the flame getting hotter,
the storm of liquor and thunder,
proved to be a drowning water.
The flame that once awakened my skin
soon vanished into rising smoke.
What was left was a body akin
to a scorched out tree of oak.
Abandoned in the cool embers
of a fire once so furiously ignited.
Naked, lonesome, and left to remember
how furiously I once fighted.
What had been me back when
has ruined what is of me now.
I ask God to do what he can
to go back and warn me somehow.
My apathy appeared to me
when the beast had left it’s reign.
Yet, this endless boredom appears to be
a reason to have died with the flame.