On Tending the Great Ancestral Fires

ON TENDING THE GREAT ANCESTRAL FIRES Here lies the residue Of an old fire Long gone Dry—Ashes Left to the whelms Of raindrops to dampen Into a useless mush— Or for the wind to blow Aimlessly to nowhere; Wet and immobile Or blowing dry in the wind, Useless are cold ashes. Here, scattered among the warm ashes, Lay hot remnants of a once great fire Gone untended—abandoned as. Often, tenders of great fires are released From their duties by the thirst of death; Others are just scared away. Be whichever it may, great fires Cocoon themselves in charcoal hued embers. Charcoal hued embers—steamers of raindrops And lovers of re-birthing winds of ignition. Come chilled children; Movements are like unsettled ashes Of social interchange; revolution, Like volcanic embers of transformation. Come cocooned children; Let us gather and stoke volcanic embers That we may metamorphose in the presence Of the Great Fire spirit of our ancestors— Least we devolve into the staled mush of ashes.