You can see the shape of them
going up in smoke
with the embers
- the sparks of memories.
Fire has no prejudice
it holds us all in blame
equal
and it believes in
capital punishment.
The ash falls in my hair,
making it gray before it's time,
and the heat licks the cold
where January bit my nose.
In some ways,
aren't we all,
one with the flames?
Until we see
Until we remember
Until we no longer wonder if ghost are real
because they are reflected
in the eyes of those
who witness
only the smoldering rubble
of what was left
behind.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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