Gold & Fire

Gold and Fire
by Andrew Goodwin

I've seen your heart, on the funeral pyre.
You've grown so old, you've grown so tired.
You know your end, and it is filled with fire.
We all end up there, even those with hearts of gold.

I've seen my heart, on that same pyre.
Worn and old, paper thin from trying.
Aged at birth, dying for life.
Death's forceps make brief allowance,
For the passing of the alchemist's dream.

Like tares in the sheaf, good only for burning;
It seems, my life is wood and paper.
Kindling split from imagination's trunk
Reduced to vapors in a second.
The frozen moment that lasts a lifetime.

Wreaths encircling and haunting, bound to serve.
Altars raised to ward off the mercy of forgetfulness
Lest dreams once treasured be forgotten.
Oasis-mirage leaves but a bitter remark.

Today, I will burn with you
Upon your funeral pyre,
If you will stay judgment.
Stay with me and chat awhile.
Speak, in tongues of fire;
If only for a second.
Let us converse, you and I;
Of the days of gold and sun.

And as we speak, let us build
An empire of hope, renewed.
Let us douse the acrid embers and pray,
For sacred wind and cleansing fire,
"Bind me to your heart of gold, beneath your wings,
hide me by your heart of fire, in the shadow of your wings.
And when I awake may I be where streets are gold."