My heart is the furnace,
That feeds on my blood,
My lungs are the bellows,
Stoking the flames,
The mere act of being,
Is all consuming,
With life and death hidden,
Throughout the veins.
Heart as furnace,
Lungs as bellows,
Pull the blood through,
And burn it away,
Transfusions are needed,
To prolong the process,
Yet finding the outcome,
Is always the same.
Heart of furnace,
Lungs of bellows,
The heat of living,
Is what we have gained,
We carry it with us,
In the guise of knowledge,
Yet fearfully speaking,
It’s smoldering name.
:snaps:
This is awesome man. I feel it’s a bit of a departure from your usual subject matter. I like the repetition in this one. It’s very lyrical and seems to follow a rhythm not unlike breathing or the beating of the heart.
Just reading this I feel like I’m fanning bright orange flames.
I’d love to know what was on your mind when you penned this… it seems very reflective of mortality and the body as a fire to be kept… Reminds me of Agni, the vedic god of fire who dwells in our bellies/bodies and who burns the perpetual sacrifice that keeps life going.
+fav for sure!