Ember
Oh, my Inglenook my Inglenook
a whole life time spent within thee,
my name is Ember
I create patterns
of dancing shadows
a need to be stoked constantly.
I can be an inhospitable harrowing flame
for those that dare to glare
and too hot to the touch,
phantom notions I can conceive
when low and in a mood
and the chill becomes apparent
I die.
It is so cold out there
beyond the glowing rays
of flickering abate,
a need of more fuel to score
or the silence continues
till flame again breaks through
by the fire just renewed.
But one day
an empty fireplace
where life once reigned supreme,
someone to rake
through the spent ashes
to return to where one cometh from
so, the clergy tells everyone.
To the wind one is scattered
no void intended; one’s death
a space for the new born
a tiny Ember renewed
to inherent this inglenook,
the process to start all over again
from spring’s kindling
To winter’s deadwood.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Copyright © Harry Horsman | Year Posted 2022
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