Memoirs Of A Teenage Heart

Even The Sun Cried When You Left, Dear...

Even The Sun Cried When You Left, Dear...

When you left, shadows grew like weeds.

They rooted beneath the floor boards

and crept up every corner.

They scaled across the walls in hunger,

and they were grasping at my toes,

my fingers… my hands…

The pen seemed too dark, too heavy,

and I think those shadows grinned.

So I lit a fire in the fireplace -

the cackling fire softened the harsh air

that only sang of silence,

and the rustic, amber light

seemed to keep the shadows at bay -

they rested patiently in the corners,

and I don’t know what will happen 

whenever the light dies out.

The fire wasn’t laughing, dear.

In fact, it was shedding tears.

Melted gold fell off of the logs

glimmering, shimmering in brilliance,

only to fall amongst the blackened grey

and extinguish forever.

The candle was ivory on the mantle,

and I forgot to move it before.

It was melting - the heat too much,

the darkness too heavy, the room too suffocating -

          There’s not enough air- 

and so ivory fell into those flames,

it’s purity set aflame, devoured, consumed,

and buried within the darkness

of falling, lifeless ash.

There are shadows in my fireplace,

and they are slowly burying my light.

What will happen when it dies out too?