Embers

The memory of fires Rage in my dreams Though cooled to embers Hidden beneath the ash. The heat comes nightly Scorching flesh in the scent Of brimstone and desire With a touch of Spring. Embers left untended Erupt from time to time Allowing wildfires to reign Havoc over beauty. So do I let go of campfire memories-- of joy and singing from the soul, Stamping them out and pouring water Until all is cleansed in the stream of smoke? Or do I come back to tend the embers Knowing dancing flames may burst forth With the potential for warmth or destruction Twirling in abandon of love and happiness? Some choices are not easy, my friend, and once made, must be seen to conclusion. And so I dither, wondering if the coals are Warmth for old age, or heartache's forecasts.