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There are ashes.
There are scattered blackened brands,
some still smoking that just were seared
and some lie quiet, burned thru to the core.
Deep in the center of the burned out fire there is a small ember.
It burns and burns. It will not give over to the cold and night
It peels the flesh from my heart.
It burrows a tunnel deeper than I knew I had depth to give.
It evaporates my blood.
Agony greater than its vessel.
It causes terrifying pain.
I cry out.
Each small moment I pause from the chores of the day,
it is there burning me.
I am weak with the agony of it.
Yet, I still embrace it with a great love.
I rush to its hurt like a starving man to bread
I beg life it will never go away.
It is a jewel beyond measure.
Above all the spires of heaven, I treasure my pain.
I hoard its burn like a treasure of childhood.
For, you see dear Laura,
it is all I have left of you.