451

It was a pleasure to burn.

It was a pleasure to see things eaten,
blackened and changed.
To have creamy letters
cringing upon their center.
Turning to charred putrid piles.

It was a pleasure to smell the kiln at work.
The odor of burnt flesh and cloth
foreign and raw- things not meant to be aflame.
the burning of paper and wood
smells familiar- a flame of earth and rot;
These smells invade my senses
an army to remind me that all is destructible.

It was a pleasure to end this,
to end you.
to make every scrap and shard disappear
into an unrecognizable pile.
To forget you
in a raging inferno

At last-
I shove close the door
soon to be no more then a lump
of ashes, embers and fierce coals.

I hear scratching
of words written in loving hand
they claw upon the door

clamoring for another look
any slight remembrance-
love letters do that,
refuse to die

But then,
I hear you.
Meek… slow… and heavy
a voice laden
encumbered by teeth of coal and tongue of flame.
-help
I know it is you
alone inside my forgotten kiln.
I know it is you
so I turn
and leave.

It was a pleasure to know you.
But mostly-
It was a pleasure to burn.

451

MariahS

Natick, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Comments 4

Artist's Description

The first few lines are taken from the opening statement in Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, hence my title of this piece. This poem is dedicated to a man I loved who oddly enough loved me back- but at the wrong time. I desperately want feedback on this piece, please tell me what you love, hate and everything in between.

Artwork Comments

  • pagan
  • MariahS
  • whoo
  • MariahS
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