The fire doesn’t hurt anymore
Weary of being the teacher, the embodiment of a lesson.
exhausted with exemplifying extremities.
In the otherwise prosaic
Cassandra of Troy, on her knees; pleading her prophecy
Yet once more the city falls, and an old lesson is learned anew
Every tower is destined to tumble
Leaving our oracle isolated again, with nothing but her pariahic truth.
My body coming in with the tide, like driftwood upon the shores surrounding the heart.
These waves; they caress and cradle me, kissing me goodbye, before laying me to rest.
Marooned ashore, these fertile lands remind me of a home I once envisioned; a place I recall from a time before I was within this flesh.
My lips, like the current: they lap at each other with lunar guidance and instinctual memory. digging up the past, creating foundations for the future.
Little sandcastles scattered like cities in my wake.