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.
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