There is a burning fireplace 

In every heart gathered here.

A dark chamber of secrets hidden

In the deep recesses of their ever burning soul.

Embers of dreams lost to a sallow, callous youth

when the blaze of arrogance danced to defeat.

They now yearn for the spirit of passion, that no longer

lodges in their withering flesh,

Longing to be ignited by the lick of a flame,

A touch, a swig of the tender fuel

Of love that can never be lost. Only found.

Again and again.

Our lives lie in this furnace, these lumps of burnt charcoal

That we are.

Waiting to be picked at, from its state of apparent futility.

These cold and needy times pleading for 

You and me, again,

To be burnt to the end of being burnt,

And nothing more to give but

What was already there.

Yet another chapter being written here. Sat by this fireplace.

To warm another’s belly.

To warm another’s hearth.