The lips of the world opens but says nothing.
A moth sings in the blade of flame
A candle delivered.
We are children of dead gods,
Fallen seraphims that sing no alleluia.
Where is my name here?
My hand is poring on themselves
In this glass pane?
But where is my identity?

See you, flowers in the jar fading in the sun,
Like vintage pictures pairing
A younger self with a beautiful woman;
I have forgotten her name.
Come home, come home.
This is it, a song or not.
I (h)ate poetry and jam.

What is the sum of all of this?
This freewrite that bleeds of something sad,
Something painful, something
That has eaten away all of this soul
And left the little blade of flame
The candle saved?
That left this broken jar to hold
Faded petals together again

The lips of the world opened and rain fell.
My body is soaked in the sun and
The light is heavy with warmth.
I am drowning with the last of the flood,
The one Noah never saw,
The one the Bible never told,
The one Adam never named,
The one between you and I.

It is four minutes and it is late.
It is your footsteps again and
It is walking away.
It is a quiet night, muttering about lonely men,
It is the last line in a verse
That knows how to say goodbye.
I am a mason jar, cracked at the end
Like everything that lives here.

source
The End.

This took some doing. I am half asleep. Lol.. I think I half forgot the prompt, but it's the fun part right? Well this is day 115 of the daily #freewrite fun. You can check out what it's all about here https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-115-5-minute-freewrite-sunday-prompt-mason-jar

peace

©@warpedpoetic