· poetry

The storm rages on inside, like wildfire burning the mountain slopes, flames extinguishing the branches and bark and green things that grow; oh the fire in my heart, this tasteless desire, ragging, rugged, unbound. I taste the heat in the back of my throat, rising up to meet the roof of my mouth, blisters bubbling on my tongue as I scream with charcoal words this throng of longing.

 

Lift thee thy eyes to the bending tree tops, swaying in silence; I wonder if trees too rage with words of agony, or do they simply let go as the fire consumes them. Breathe in thy lungs, the sweet crisp air void of swirling smoke and thick with debris, breathe in the cool waters of forgiveness that extinguish the ragging flames; breathe in the living water which heals, which covers, which spreads out a blanket of rain, delivering nutrients to ritchen the soil, bringing life to the deserted land.

 

Some fires burn underground for many years, until the ground above them caves through; you are this land, the fire burns within you, buried by layers of earth, unstable, unsteady land; oh darling don’t cave in upon yourself. Underground rivers run like deer towards water, fresh springs melt away the flames; oh let them come upon your heart and drench this burning land with sweet mountain melt, oh let the waters wash away your agony.

 

Dear fire, I have known your destructive power, I have known your burning bitterness, I have known your heat upon my shoulders as your hands grip my flesh, but know this, no fire can withstand the ocean. No flames can burn hot enough, nor anger burn deep enough, to resist the temptress sea with her bellowing bosom and tidal-wave hands; dear fire, your days are numbered. Perhaps I will turn into the ocean, my arms into a starfish, I will grip you with tentacle limbs and jump into the sea to douse your fire; perhaps I will dig an underground tunnel to the base of your burning mountain, then call upon the ocean to let loose her waves to rush your flames; perhaps, I will beg God to turn me into a rain drop that I might shower down upon you.

 

Dear agony, your hands are filled with greed, always wanting more of us, your palms drip with our pain, your eyes are filled with hunger, dear agony, you have lost your grip on me. No anger can cut deep enough, nor lie hold strong enough, to withstand the defusing arms of grace. For I have tasted of the fire and tasted of the water, I have known the arms of anger and the hands of suffering I have walked the road of pain and sat in the chair of lies, and now I know this, no thing can stand in the face of grace, for all will fall at its hands.

 

Storms rage all around me, fires burn the smoke chokes my throat burning blisters on my mouth, the ocean raises her hand to throw a watery dart, the mountains scream, the trees sway in silence, the ground caves beneath our feet to expose the burning deep; as for me, I will leap into the sea.

 

By Riah Raine

The storm rages on inside, like wildfire burning the mountain slopes, flames extinguishing the branches and bark and green things that grow; oh the fire in my heart, this tasteless desire, ragging, rugged, unbound. I taste the heat in the back of my throat, rising up to meet the roof of my mouth, blisters bubbling on my tongue as I scream with charcoal words this throng of longing.

Lift thee thy eyes to the bending tree tops, swaying in silence; I wonder if trees too rage with words of agony, or do they simply let go as the fire consumes them. Breathe in thy lungs, the sweet crisp air void of swirling smoke and thick with debris, breathe in the cool waters of forgiveness that extinguish the ragging flames; breathe in the living water which heals, which covers, which spreads out a blanket of rain, delivering nutrients to ritchen the soil, bringing life to the deserted land.

Some fires burn underground for many years, until the ground above them caves through; you are this land, the fire burns within you, buried by layers of earth, unstable, unsteady land; oh darling don’t cave in upon yourself. Underground rivers run like deer towards water, fresh springs melt away the flames; oh let them come upon your heart and drench this burning land with sweet mountain melt, oh let the waters wash away your agony.

Dear fire, I have known your destructive power, I have known your burning bitterness, I have known your heat upon my shoulders as your hands grip my flesh, but know this, no fire can withstand the ocean. No flames can burn hot enough, nor anger burn deep enough, to resist the temptress sea with her bellowing bosom and tidal-wave hands; dear fire, your days are numbered. Perhaps I will turn into the ocean, my arms into a starfish, I will grip you with tentacle limbs and jump into the sea to douse your fire; perhaps I will dig an underground tunnel to the base of your burning mountain, then call upon the ocean to let loose her waves to rush your flames; perhaps, I will beg God to turn me into a rain drop that I might shower down upon you.

Dear agony, your hands are filled with greed, always wanting more of us, your palms drip with our pain, your eyes are filled with hunger, dear agony, you have lost your grip on me. No anger can cut deep enough, nor lie hold strong enough, to withstand the defusing arms of grace. For I have tasted of the fire and tasted of the water, I have known the arms of anger and the hands of suffering I have walked the road of pain and sat in the chair of lies, and now I know this, no thing can stand in the face of grace, for all will fall at its hands.

Storms rage all around me, fires burn the smoke chokes my throat burning blisters on my mouth, the ocean raises her hand to throw a watery dart, the mountains scream, the trees sway in silence, the ground caves beneath our feet to expose the burning deep; as for me, I will leap into the sea.

By Riah Raine

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