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.