The Pyromaniac In The Library Poem by Raffael PonceValencia

Searching the banks of recollection,
I find that I have nothing of value.
Ideas plague biblically and roam reigning,
but no true remembrance of happiness.

An image keeps me in a constant state of melancholy for I cannot come to surface it from the depths of the muddy-water reminiscences.
Out of those grime infested books of pink tissue,
Where thousands of fog pages reside with nothing to say.

All my being craves this alternate reality.
All my soul wishes to create this image.
All my heart desires is simple this:

Set a blanket on my love's shoulders,
Take my jacket and playfully lead her in the rain.
Step past the puddles with clumsy wet feet who tumble together rhythmically.
Laces bounding side to side.
The ends of our hair,
who have drank up the rain,
whipping behind us.

We're on a beach somewhere at night.
There's music playing in my head but it's quiet out.
Silence that sounds like a smile.
Silence that prevails before a tender kiss.
The works fire in the sky and in my hands tied to yours is my heart,
peaceful infant,
weaved by the warmth only we can produce.

I want to burn the memories past that hang in the frames up in the hallways of my mind.
I want to set the ashes afloat the boat and set it to the coursing waters of my subconscious.
I want to kiss her.
I want to kiss her and forget.
I want to forget when I kiss her.

But what I want more in this life and in those to come,
is to know who my love is,
and not be lost in absence for the remainder of my days the way I have been for centuries.