Old Flames

Every time we speak we swallow vulnerability
Every message sent stirs the nerves
There's a sweetness when we're weak, a brashness in civility
Folded diary page kind of words

Years spent out of touch since age of breathless longing
When we longed with eyes of make-believe
It's long since I've had much so now I'm left to wondering
Which of these new hopes am I to keep?

Withered embers long bereft of lighthouse glow
They burn you well but there's no way they can show

Keeper of the flames who collects to keep warm
Memories are pale but he'll never have to mourn

When light speaks in shadows it's a language of webs
And whispering routes mouth back the unsaid

Keeper of the flames who talks to himself:
Am I cornered by the guides that I sling from my belt?

Wading through the snow, the silence swallows everything
Can't feel my home anymore
On the footstep trail I know, the torch of vows is flickering
The kindling of wishes keeps me warm

Well, nature tells the truth with consistency unfailing
With nothing on you, there you have most
But I am burning proof of when nothing is annealing
With trauma's flare and burned out ghosts

Withered embers long bereft of lighthouse glow
They burn you well but there's no way they can show

Keeper of the flames who collects to keep warm
Memories are pale but he'll never have to mourn

When light speaks in shadows it's a language of webs
And whispering routes mouth back the unsaid

Keeper of the flames who talks to himself:
Am I cornered by the guides that I sling from my belt?

Canyon gods
I beg of the breach
But only my echo responds

Burn the bones
Serenade the blaze
Let the flashbacks hiss their throes

Singing bells
Herald dawning of an exodus
Pray, mercifully foretell

Kerosene soul
The older I grow
The more I grow invisible
Invisible

Phantom-fed flame, you dance across my skin
And I'm too fond of how you color me in
If I forget your name, forsake memory's grandeur
My heart will always coddle your scar

The mirror-faced man rests by the road
The brim of his hat drawn low
The air seems to sweat as he says to me,
Son, she don't remember you, and remember love don't ripen off the tree!

Withered embers long bereft of lighthouse glow
They burn you well but there's no way they can show

Keeper of the flames who collects to keep warm
Memories are pale but he'll never have to mourn

When light speaks in shadows, his instincts distort
And glass houses swing from posts that line last resorts

Keeper of the flames who talks to himself:
Am I cornered by the guides that I sling from my belt?