***This is a poetry slam, so try to imagine speaking this out loud, with the "/" indicating a pause. Bear with me, it's very hard to "write" a slam.
sticky webs of pre-season snow/melting in the heat of fires/we know all too well and/trees in a haze/from a smoke filled daze/and I fill my days/with ways/to gaze on/this place we made/created from a phase of/insane desires and/lingering rage of rusty/lust and dust/from skeletons burned in the flames/that will ultimately save/what no one thought could be used to replace/bitter hate and tortured faces/of the people we knew/and the places we came from/and I can't help but wonder if/cold storms and/raging thunder could/ever plunder these/unexplored mountains/and fields that lie under/if this fire will ever consume/us and exhume us/ before the truth of us/be know but/I know and you'll learn/that going doesn't mean/staying and/playing doesn't mean there's no cravings of love/that we earned/and even as I turn/away/from your eyes I see the smoke/clearing lies/before they can even think to rise/and I finally find that/ I won't mind if I'm/walking through flames/entirely consumed/by the fire of/you.
**Again, 2004ish
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