Literature
So Bright it Burns
Charcoal and ember, charcoal and ember;
These are the kind of things I remember,
Under the orangey-red leaves of fall
When no one's doing anything at all,
And nothing is really how it first seems
Under the paling starlight of your dreams.
This magical chaos and disarray
Feels like it might be important someday;
I hide it in the pocket of my jeans
Till the day when I know what chaos means.
It just feels like this all leads back to you,
But I'm fine with that; my thoughts lead there, too.
Try as I might to be thoughtful and chaste,
Yours are eyes that laid Guernica to waste.