the man who burns his bridges with fire
puzzled, his pieces
whom, "the loved", died, admired

doesn't do anything by half
or by thick
look deep within, you will see
little skin

on his surface, his shine
his maze, man made mind
a man who thinks, for himself
watch, his ways
he will capture, then catch you
melt, his mark, as he strays

back and forth, then bolts,
like a colt
blinds you, by "wayside"
what you feel, that's a jolt

that startles and stuns
disorientates, the heat of his gun
as he penetrates, then propagates
the need to run, his place in the sun

haunts you, his presence
as if, he, heart bled
just might've been, the only one

you'd ever met, called "cannot forget"
no matter all the maneuvers
you tried
somehow, in the soak in, his eyes,
you found, in the afterward, yes, you had died

just in the way
he might've wanted you to
subconsciously so,
this man, with everything and nothing
to prove

still, as the night
warm breeze and wind,
the gods favorite height

peaceful and passion filled
his throbbing heart, chest
safe then, at rest,
sewed, the necessity of "nest"

of which to feel, surrounded,
in angels
then switched, the scene,
his "dangerous", change angles

swiftly, disarmingly
thunder, lightning strikes,
alarming, he

alerting you
he will not be caged
so spills forth, his rapturous rage

somehow, some sway
inside of him, searching
for someone, "something"
worth, his secret, wants, cherished, saved

in a place, no one can touch
while he, so touchingly drips
his blood, in slow, demanding, droplets,
as he, commands, unspoken
one, in silence, reach for and clutch

his delicate soul,
heart riddled, with holes
from bullets, or, etched arrows, so shot
by hero's and heroines
all the remembrances that must not
be forgot

and so he burns his bridges,
with fire
called to some place
that hearkens of "higher"

elevations,
like mountains
and trails
he walks, then he rests
at cliffs edge, finds "no fail"

inside of him, he is at home
and at peace

the man who burns his bridges
with fire
something inside, "needing out",
rain, released

upon , "the within"
things, that no longer are him
pulled by so many forces, apart
in longing for "safe, stay"
he leaves behind those
that can't keep his ways

understood
or impact, his scatter
just let be
in his time, feel the
matters

out, and work, inside himself
empty his well springs,
replenish, and rectify
his warring wants, wealth

not measured by
the means of "the many"
finished, fed up, by "the plays"
of the plenty

the man who burns his bridges
with fire

puts the "one", after that
which is prefaced by the "unlike" in "any"

as in, not like anyone
you've ever met

the man who burns his bridges
with fire

the soul definition of
"cannot shake him"

forget.


bowen hart roselli
3 april 2020
ringwald love