Up in Smoke

Fire is cleansing, and transforming. It helps us shed the skin of our past and deliver us into our future as a new person.

Wood smoke clings to my hair,

My front warmed by flame’s raging might,

My back turned to the darkness’ pull
Eyes accustom to wavering light

 

Watching your face melt from pictures,

Their glossy fronts turning white,

Does not bring me the release I thought it would,

Surrounded by banter and laughter an food,

I feel more companionship from the empty starry night

 

Sparks of our memories fly to join the stars,

You called me that once, your star,

You called me a lot of things, before.

Now all that’s left is dust and ash,

And the memory of a fire’s glow on my skin,

Warm as your touch used to be.

 

The moon shines down upon this pagan rite,

Burning the old to make way for the new

But it still doesn’t burn you out of my heart

I haven’t yet stopped missing you

 

But what we had is now naught more than embers,

Glowing feebly in the snow,

And every memory we’ve ever made,

Is up in smoke, like the wood and diesel and paper,

Returning to the stars from whence it came