you were crafted from the bitter fire
quickly, your soul formed in my hands
dancing between my fingertips
[i watched, eyes gazing longingly
at your tiny questions appearing like
echoes, soft children's music to my ears.
(i burned my hands as i answered you,
you never asked to be made, i know.
i never asked for the scorched flesh
that came along with creating you, accompanying
the growing life form in my workshop, with whispers
i shovel in coal around your new body,
while you bloom from the ashes
[your head peaks out through the burning orange,
i smile hello.]
a little bit of love, torn straight from my soul
tossing in a sprinkle of regret for character.
caution, free of experience and given for safety.
fire for your personality, free of charge
for sparks would be how you would light up my life.
an old, coal outline for your face lends to
the old soul that you had become.
your feet were new, tiny, unblemished
when you stepped out of my workshop.
the birthmark of my pain stamped on
your shoulder, which you didn't take notice
clothes from my garden are what adorned you
instead of being exposed to the elements for
my viewing pleasure
i asked for nothing in return but
you shied away from my touch, after so long in the forges
i wanted for you in the lily-filled meadow and yet you ran so far.
[you had tied leaves around your feet, ones you had stolen
from my sanctuary.]
i gave freely from the pits of my soul and--
yes, i know, you never asked to live--
but without cost to you once again
you have taken from me.
[from ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
i'll leave a bill next time.]