The Pyre Tracker’s Plight
There was once birthed a firecracker that grew to explode in nirvana flare,
Shards of its fluorescence hung at a height and procured quite a glare,
Bright electric veins were skewed straight then lured by the Earth's leer,
Permeated in-between midday and the night, but the exact time was never clear,
Lightning speckles magnetised by the outer atmosphere,
They’ve forfeited their fight for life and slowly they disappear.
The night was again dark with spite and ruined by rancour loud,
It was October and the mood was sombre, socked with turmoil fowled,
And if I was a Pyre Tracker I might have tracked the firecracker into the cloud,
Tracked the remnants of the night’s footsteps where lights imprint was no longer allowed,
Pursued through the pyre’s sheen if only I was keen,
But if it was courageousness I was after, it was something I had never been.
I searched the pyre cloud beyond illuminating frost,
Looked through a hole in between the backwash that lay upon the moss,
But all I am is a pathetic man full of fatigue,
Filled with spite, and lack any ounce of intrigue,
I lurch with convulsions by a stomach afraid and tied by a frayed knot,
For all the things I am, a Pyre Tracker I am not.
Yes I am a coward full of fear,
So I did not search for the loss even though it vanished when I was near,
And it was I who stood their when last it was seen,
Yet I did not disappear through that slit of light that slipped between,
It was I who watch the light snuff out with a single breath,
And still I did not follow, I did not follow into death.
A flutter of leaved green was cleft by my side,
A gale whispered while stillness in the dark shook and cried,
Swept up behind me with a gentle hiss that kissed goosebumps up my neck,
It was a Pyre Tracker who ran past me towards that lights that beck,
With bold strides he followed death into her grave,
He tore into the lightening like a man possessed by the responsibility of being brave.
In a flash the Pyre Tracker was gone in the seam of dawn,
And he was stuck in that dark forlorn as the clouds were slowly drawn,
Then the gleam shimmers shut as if the beam had never been born,
Like a dark swirling blur as the fragment mends what was torn,
I am left listening for quiet, for that's the way I feel,
My hands cradle my eyes and my legs are collapsed to a kneel.
I memorise my memories as the past month grows in size,
Arise October for you are only sadness in disguise,
I am saturated as anguish covers me with brine,
A waterfall of emotion showers me in placental shine,
I am fetal, signing a cross for sins I never new I saw,
They start to draw blood across my sinew that is raw.
No more pain in October for this is all that I can bear,
I know that you can not completely heal the wound when once it was a tear,
So I wait for the Pyre Tracker like I was a Pyre Tracker minion,
Wait for him to beckon me to join him in that dominion,
But the night is still and the light leaves no mark or shrill,
I am a shark submerged in blood to subterfuge the kill.
I tumble in waves of recollect, like the sky did the dark,
Where is that brave Pyre Tracker, and why did he embark,
The firecracker that the Pyre Tracker tracked again cracked,
Light turned to sound blaring and stark, then blacked,
Thunder startles this shark from it’s thoughts of fear,
A feeding frenzy in front of him rips at all the quiet near.
I disappear, then reappear in constant vesiculate,
Thoughts pleat existentialism that my heart tries to debate,
It creases my existence with folds of repeated cries,
Mental anguish escaping like the torrents from those saddened skies,
Is it some melancholy metaphor to leave the cursed without mirth,
Just as my friends leave selfishly, as if friendship has no worth.
More death in this month then there was ever any birth,
In a guise of life it applies pain in some plan by mother earth,
More hurt released in this month of October,
Or is it just an excuses to keep me from being sober,
Another bang, and I glimpse the Pyre Tracker tasting blood,
I am distraught for he is drenched, beaten, and kneeling in the mud.
It is a lot of blood that pores from brutal flesh rips,
His eyes slowly blink as fingers dip into the cuts in his lips,
He is broken, and his body shows the ferociousness of the fight,
His screams defy the lightening wire that grip and gyre the night,
The Pyre Tracker’s face contorts by gnarled forces from his core,
The rain that pounds him seems slowed as he waits there bashed in the gore.
I wish I had the the courage the Pyre Tracker possessed,
I wish I was half the man he was but my bravery is repressed,
I ponder that there are no clues leading you to peace,
I am vexed by a want to remember him, but also I want the memory of his demise to cease,
I remember the Pyre Tracker’s face hacked with scratches like a lace,
I remember him look at me from high in that pyre place.
I am tormented by guilt that pounds me like an incubus hymn,
With thunder as cymbals and rhythm drums are only screams from him,
The Pyre Tracker is dead and I wonder if he found the light,
Was he happy before the battle and at peace after the fight,
I did not see him die, I only saw him disappear,
Slurred memories to escape being sober this year.
