The Crucible of Fire

The Crucible Of Fire We call it ash, although more like desiccated granular bone coral. Whether ash or coral, I will be. I am afraid, as I see through unseeing eyes, as I feel, even though I cannot feel, the flickering flames that feed through the doors ahead waiting for what was me. Young once. Not special but a beginning, a promise. No hill too tall to climb, no challenge too great; no laughter too big to embrace. Dreams. and then desire shredded, sent aloft with the winds, Vanished to some other world. Hands grown spotted with time. Eyes gone dim and rheumy, sour old man breath of despair, and yes, magic, either forgotten or tossed toward the fire ahead. David Holmes