Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The Fire

©  2012  Steve King
All rights reserved

this fire begot something
to trim the leavings of the night:

ancient spirits in the smoke;
rekindled hope speaks from each tongue of flame;
ember upon ember,
old inclinations leap to light,
then sift their ashes through my heart again.

I know the fire shall shortly die,
just as all regret is said to wane.

I taste these ashes one more time,
and know there is no reason to complain.

A taste of ashes may remain,
but no one ever need explain;

I would relive it all the same,
and take no moment to complain