Twin Flame Poem by Lily Ives

My body is a home
and a temple—
it is sacred.

I open my heart and welcome,
but they leave.
Like ghosts they live in the echo of the halls
where I roam among radiant prismatic forms
alit by tall stained-glass windows.

Another knock.
A man stands at the door, cloaked in a robe—
his face changes.
I look for my twin,
my wolf,
my darkness.

I don't know—
was that him?
He came—
but then he left—
or did he?
His cloak still lies by the door.

It is winter.
The trees are bare and in deep slumber,
the birds and wildlife silent,
the evenings long and cold.

So I give bread and wine at the altar
and feed the mighty flames with my dreams and hopes.

As I stand stout and guard these solemn walls,
my light shines bright;
my house beams fiercely toward the starry night.

The ornate wrought-iron gate is not sealed shut—
he can enter.
The key is in his hands.
He only has to dare.

Yes, it is luminous here.
The glare will strip him of flesh and bone.
He must stand before me with his shadow
and stare back at my own.

Let there be fire.
Let there be ash.
Let there be rebirth—
for the bounty is mine.

And still I call through flame and shadow,
into the blaze where two become one—
for the bounty is ours.

The fire remembers the name of every soul
that ever walked within these walls.

I stand within the hush of the glowing hall
and hear the step that echoes with intention.

The deep earth breathes its ancient warmth.
The pillars tremble.
Figures in the glass wake,
their forms breaking loose in splintered light
that rains in shards upon the worn stone,
filling the chamber with gold and birdsong
and with truth
and with the laughter that rises after.

The altar welcomes the one who stands unarmoured.

My soul.