Observations And Fickle Ideas Poem by A.E.K.G Navrilith

Skin as soft as silk, off hazelnut and cream; a radiating heat to challenge the sun. (Rarely was this heat evident in expression) .
In the depth of the enigmatic emeralds,
set like cold hard stone,
below perfectly shaped mahogany arches.
A mask.
But a beautiful mask for what it’s worth.

The Match arrived.
Blistered away the mask,
to leave in its place the face of an angel
- Albeit a tainted one –
but also singed my heart and set ablaze an inferno inside my very soul,
to eradicate all else,
Save pain.
It was not a hollow victory.
But nor was it a challenge.

A one sided remorse and a blacked, shattered, heart of ash.
That is all that was left.

That person lied.
The one who whispered ‘Time heals all wounds’.
It Doesn’t.
It only numbs them.
Taking little piece after little piece of your self every time.

Life goes on… Rebuild… Continue.

Perhaps one day the Match will flicker out and burn their fingers and their heart. Who knows?

All I know is a person once said to me:
‘They are like buses, there is always another one’.
Whether that is true or not, I don’t know, I leave it up to you to decide for yourself.