i'm watching ash fall on my porch
and it's so sentimental.
a town's burning down from here
and i'm feeling so gentle
towards years we're spending
fearing the same fires.

though, love is barren and
i'm dry and parched.
lying sprawled
watching skies
tall and full of smoke.
they're crying pasts to me
as i just sit
because pasts are passing like a house
and i'm just lazily grasping
for empty ghosts.
I love the word 'pasts.' It's not something you hear, or say, every day, and I'm indulging the contrast of burning pasts and barren landscapes in cities not really all that full of life. The sibilance in the second stanza is stilling every sense of tension I can see from my present position. I can't decide if it helps or not, though I can say that there is no other sound I would rather associate with fire.

The poem is simple, and I think it's trying to be complex. Maybe it's not trying, maybe it's just not a simple idea - but I think it is. The beginning feels incomplete, and I'm waiting for an explanation before I continue through to the end, as if I'm missing something, and I'm giving you that look like you should be saying something, or I should, but no one knows quite what to say, because the entire scenario is already out in the open, and there's nothing else to say, until there is. By the time the ghosts appear, I'm tired of all the s's. But maybe that doesn't matter either, because the poetry isn't something I can find in grocery stores, but here. And I'm okay with that.
once again, thanks to sean, i'm left with nothing to say except to leave some love. i do have to disagree a bit on the intro though, it didn't feel incomplete to me, everything seemed to meld together perfectly and almost nostalgically by the end of the piece. if you get what i'm trying to say.
Thank God for this.

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching