Dancing With a Flame

It's a silent film, but it needs no words.
Nothing there ever needs to be heard.
Any utterance might cause them to know
and make it come alive and so...
Hush.
She walks so slowly, eyes ahead.
A heart half there and almost dead
I see her face, she calls my name,
and I repeat. We are the same.
And all at once the footsteps come.
It's him, she knows, but it's not done.
The only story ever on the shelf
was missing half the pages. It was no help.
Echoes.
Silence.
Screaming, violence
He's not a part of the war at all.
He cannot hear it when she falls.
The film is silent, and he's a stranger.
Looking on, but unaware of the danger.
She's reaching out to anyone there
but the world's so fully unaware.
She knows each room and wall and door
that decorate his heart. And for
each moment she looks farther in
she falls into a piece of him.
Like ash from embers, she breaks apart
and the pieces fall into his heart.
But ash is dead. And he won't feel
her presence there. She is not real.
Walk on, dear boy, walk through the night.
She's gone and given up her fight.
She's hiding deep inside your chest
just hoping you'll notice her there at best.
Maybe one day you'll reignite
the ashes, and they'll dance with light.
Her face from fire, pressed to your lips.
Your hands set firm on fragile hips.
With eyes so big, she stares on in.
There's a fight here for love.
I hope she'll win.