Fields Like Oceans (How Many?)

There is no eulogy worthy of utterance
for a man blind enough to burn down a forest,
a man who would have traded tears for bullets,
so close and so far away from home


He stands in crowded and lonely fields like oceans,
ash and flowers twirl as if refusing to be forgotten,
carrying empty bottles for love letters to drown in
as petals fall softly, like an echo of an echo


Fate and rain emancipate lies in every whisper
as he picks black roses off of scars he won't remember,
an epitaph in a poem that could never say he misses her,
"another day, another cut", was all he carved in stone


Swallowing bandages so he might heal inside,
for like the forest, heart and euthanasia abide,
alive and dead, he will walk away tonight,
for every fire must go out on its own



Yes,
I'm the man who burned down the forest,
and I'm sorry I left you with nothing
but an ocean, of bones