Inferno.

We have witnessed the peace of times....
with twisted kites and coils of that rich,
competitive string-
playing carelessly like we were
contradictory innocence.

We never knew scarlet havoc
that burned and blushed upon our bare anatomy,
or the weight of emancipating orphans-
freeing the dreadful people
struck mute.

Age consumed us;
we developed rapidly under sin-braided practices
(society's drug)-
pressed upon our rights to be harmless.

Pounding guilt hit like a drum
to provide shelter,
much more endings than colorful
beginnings that could keep us safe
[above a reckless, tipsy world].

Then, reveries shot down our gardened jasmine buds-
no longer a slender fragrance
(now a naked, cotton covering).

Antagonizing assaults caused
me to reject myself in reality- sweet basil so unholy,
wanting to take back
cardiac burns he had because of me.
Tasting gun powder, hot scars,
and cowardly chambers.

Yet I couldn't entomb our juvenile faith-
the feel of one skipping pulse
to make it all the more complete.
He didn't vanish from me without sparking
a will to rescue.

Running and shouting to have courage
under violently captured values,
it looks like I'll be forgiven from
my stout duty, my shorted honor.

Keep moving and don't dwell...
over where you thought it was
betrayal's last inferno,
haven't you heard the news of
surviving through redemption's
rapture?

How can we write our history without
the sear of remembrance....
the ashes, the consequence of believing
in color,
and the determination to follow pursuit.
We still chase that young (daring) kite
through ambitious journeys,
going with twilight's windy skin
without black embers of regret.

Through an inferno of redemption
into a flight of never forget me's.

- Written for a round contest on PnQ.