Fire's Turmoil

Time grew soft, malleable like gold or even clay, not hard and fixed like steel. Thoughts, fears and ideas morphed, warping what might be true, if possibilities had remained ideal. The flame, it gripped, holding firm on excitements hands and taboo, as the fires burned bright with heat. The heat so intense, that all rational thoughts vanished. So that only what was in the moment and the now could be seen.

Loyalty was given and loyalty was granted, along with the pain of trying, but never succeeding. Why? Why was there so much turmoil when the fire had been so bright in the beginning of what was supposed to be epic?

Was there dedication? Perhaps to the dream that had been wanted so bad. Those precious inner ideas and goals, once wished, vanished more with each shout of the voice and each soul numbing bruise. Was this love? A question asked so many times. A whisper deep inside brought to thought out of need. Love was about having to make sacrifices, right? Yet, sacrifices were made, made so many, many times. More sacrifices, more with each passing week, yet troubled was the journey and forlorn became the soul. So many people pushed. Pushed away for what? For the dream that seemed to be fading in echoes? For the fire that had started it all? People loved and that did love and care upon the bookmark of friendship, now farther and farther away, when it was their heart needed most.

Time, like molasses now, sticky, oh so sticky, clutching every inch of progress, holding back the inner vision of those goals and ventures known deeply to be needed. Time had become the cage, like a bird, the spirit watched through the bars and hope sank further and further to a dark horizon. What had once been dreamed of in every thought and action now fell to knees along the path of pain and isolation.

So knowing was the inner voice. So was the wish to remember a spirit that was free. Yet, the fire would continue to burn. Again and again its flames ensnared the mind, suppressing the will to change, to act, to rise from the darkness and break the cage. Those self blinding tendrils of fire would take, always taking. The returns became like a cloud on a sunny day, so very fleeting. The warmth that had become the drug and intoxication brought only more emptiness, as sad eyes could only gaze upon the stars, tears freely flowing.

Deep, hidden away, so far away it was perhaps only an echo, hope struggled to stay lit even as the vacuum of oppression guttered the spark of those far away ideas. That idea that dream had wanted so much to become the reality. Truth itself had become something better hidden under a blanket. Blinding became the days, while loneliness found its only sanctuary, adrift upon the night time sands. There at least thoughts were one’s own. The night held the secrets of whispered prayers that led to the question. Could eyes be opened, even if only for just one moment? A cry echoed out across the darkness.