Did you regret that thing that you did? It's just you and the fireplace. Coals blackening. Logs waining. Cut branches undecided.
Your happy memories have gone to bed. The dog is a year dead and you can face your failures. You can come clean with yourself.
Embers glow brighter and with a breath from you would warm and eventually ignite the branch above. You draw on your glass. And wait for the fire that will happen without your intervention.
There was a time when you believed in a God. When your failures could be forgiven. And your vanity was a diagnosis or a sin, something with a cure or maybe forgiveness.
You regret those things that you did. You can say that now. You grieve.
And the embers light up. And you hear a rush of air down the chimney. The sound of dread at first, hollow and foreboding. The trees outside the window and beyond usher, then whisper. The embers burst into flame. And ignite the branch above.
Forget your prayers. Blaspheme. Say the sound of the chimney, of the trees. Of the embers flashing.
Say the sound of the wind - Dustin Martin.
Your happy memories have gone to bed. The dog is a year dead and you can face your failures. You can come clean with yourself.
Embers glow brighter and with a breath from you would warm and eventually ignite the branch above. You draw on your glass. And wait for the fire that will happen without your intervention.
There was a time when you believed in a God. When your failures could be forgiven. And your vanity was a diagnosis or a sin, something with a cure or maybe forgiveness.
You regret those things that you did. You can say that now. You grieve.
And the embers light up. And you hear a rush of air down the chimney. The sound of dread at first, hollow and foreboding. The trees outside the window and beyond usher, then whisper. The embers burst into flame. And ignite the branch above.
Forget your prayers. Blaspheme. Say the sound of the chimney, of the trees. Of the embers flashing.
Say the sound of the wind - Dustin Martin.
