silented1 wrote:The ceilings' corner is the Sun,
A faded gold of thought,
where plaster rainbows melt
Into the night.
Like a meteor shower
around a lamp coughing sparks
on the floor, where chords of flame
Run to find an outlet. <----This stanza makes the least amount of sense, rethink it please.
As the walls drop dead,
the fire's voice is cracking wood,
Screaming into the ceiling
that comes crashing down.
The report states: Electrical fire;
started in the youngest's room;
A body on the floor muttered:
A lamp fell,
coughing sparks on the floor,
where cords of flame
stream to find an outlet.
As the walls tumble away,
the fire's voice is breaking planks,
screaming up into the rafter
that came crashing down at him.
Memories like the tips
of frayed wires
peel themselves back,
baring every singular experience.
They capture every dream in their parts,
melting them to the screen
that mocks every mistake
they have displayed:
The news report reads:
Youngest toils away at late at night,
tortured by the memory of his house
burning down.
He will not heal
without the peace of his dreams.