Noveyre

Ashen Hearts

Have my heart melt to ash

to be lost in the ember ether; 

gone away to an acropolis 

atop the volcano wayward; 

 

that city upon the molten crown

of the fiercest mountain

its residents, with flesh of igneous 

live their lives so callously 

 

and cruelly to Pompeii below! 

They rain clay to cast poor souls below,

the medusas of their age enough, 

they who wouldn't learn to love. 

 

And the sepulcher of stones

of rocks made from men's bones 

so sad to see it grow! 

By those of the acropolis. 

 

Yet sadder still, those men did pray 

worshipped them like seraphs; 

they loved the mountain wondrously, 

made artwork of its zenith.  

 

But eventually, they saw the folly 

and left their valley fully; 

made up all of their caravans 

and convoys went to foreign lands. 

 

The acropolis, now all alone, 

would continue bleeding out its soul 

the heaven to wreck hell below 

till all the world made evenly; 

 

and the summit should lose its embers

its lack of exhaust to vanish vapors

should quiet its ill temper, 

and make that mountain tame. 

 

And maybe then, with hope and water

the lichens smite the soil sour 

give it life, with grass and clover 

and once again, make the earth a mother. 

 

Then the gorgons might be gardeners;

and the acropolis made a city proper; 

and the meteors up skyward

the only foul to fall. 

 

And Pompeii, who had ventured- 

should find themselves their home; 

and return, to that place- unrecognized then from before

like the homecoming of Homer. 

 

Would they love the forest born? 

While mausoleums of dead adorn

the foundations underneath them? 

 

Could they forgive a sin, so saintly? 

Accept a peace, and not irately? 

Love again what was once brash,

What once had melted hearts to ash? 

 

Yes, they could! Though history is hatred, 

but also matrimony and brethren 

and families and whole continents 

engulfing our old Earth. 

 

And the birch trees will breathe, 

and the wind will let to suther

just as they always have, and seem to do yet still. 

 

You cannot forget the lovely lava, 

what will devour with hot teeth 

that sink and seethe in gluttonous greed

to consume what is heartfelt; 

 

But you can forgive it, when you go

and return to find it gone. 

In its stead, alive a new rapture 

that glistens instead of glows 

that shines instead of burns

will love you more than you know, 

will not hurt; will not lash; 

no more hearts will melt to ash.

 

 



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