Poem-A-Day: Day 257

It Burns When I Think

no feeling in the brain
and remaining meandering souls
have left their mark,
some questionable,
albeit indelible mark
that is burned in.

and there is still no feeling
amidst the burning,
the smell is awful;
seared hair and matter,
but it hasn’t mattered much
up until this point.

and there is still no point
to all the meandering spirits,
but they’ve left their mark,
and it has smelled awful
up to this point,
and it feels like it matters.

the brain is feeling the point
of the tortuous burning,
a brain branding smolder
that is red, brooding
and not unlike the sweet call
of hearing for the first time.