Three times before I have stood on this brink
Three times before I have stepped through the fire
The burning, hot, purifying fire
To step out the other side a black boned skeleton man
With arms akimbo
Burned clean of all, fleshy accoutrements
Even memories purged, purged to a fine filtered distance
Whether by necessity, defeat, or desire
I will yet again approach this fire
To be burned, burned to a crisp of memory wisps
Weighed down, pressed down, by our earthly accumulations
The man begins to rot, to groan, to sag to earth
burned free, burned light
there can be anything.
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