Sifting through ash, dust, and embers,
In awe of how the fire had rendered
and scewed this old place--I can't remember
How our house even burnt down.
Confused whether to invest in joy or sorrow;
For building and burning always changes tomorrow
So at least extend your hand, for I'm sure I could borrow
any help in leaving this town.
Finding our portrait in ash, dust, and embers,
and in spite of ruin, you make me remember.
What a fool I've been to again surrender
To what just will return to the ground.
My friend- and what a thing it is to be able to call you my friend,
ReplyDeletePerhaps it's the prerogative of knowing you so well, but I love the way you can tell the story of your life with words and imagery. I really empathize with these feelings, and I'm very impressed by your talent.
Momma Bear.