Embers of Time

Embers of Time

A Poem by Footprints al carbon
"

Watching the magic of a living ember.

"
The living ember is aware!

It sets free the matter of yesterday;
It contemplates the mystery,
the history of growth;
Potential released by the flame, to recover
the plasmic kinetic motion.

With an ashen voice heard a first time, every time,
a flame that dances to its own vibrant song;
Propagating to every place into every time,
light's echo passes even through the void.
It is only fire that consumes as it creates,
creating a more stable element of being.

Give some of your energy, release what is in me!
Touch me with the heat that will ignite my consumption!

A flame to prepare my meals.
Pulsing embers to sooth my eyes.
My mind calmed by the crackling sparks
   that rise
   rise
    rise
     rise
... and vanish.

I am no longer afraid of the fire,
or of having the burn of desire,
No longer can I be concerned
with the cold darkness,
with the lifeless ash,
with the cause,
or the end.

Who are these embers that I know?
Are they aware of the life they contain?
Do they fear the all consuming power of release?
Can they grasp a spark from the flame of desire?

Just hold it long enough to ignite.
In time even smoldering char can become light:
ashen remains of something made pure,
having been released in the inferno,
A whole new world is possible from these ashes!

And the surface flame calms.
A swirling glow radiates.
Will there be any witness as it is consumed?

What a life it is!
A story that can never be told,
it has been told;
With words that can never be uttered,
they have been spoken,

Rise-
rise in this moment;
Burn-
for there is no return.

© 2017 Footprints al carbon


Author's Note

Footprints al carbon
On a cold night, a fire surrounds you with warmth.

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Added on January 17, 2017
Last Updated on January 17, 2017
Tags: aware, flame, time, burn

Author

Footprints al carbon
Footprints al carbon

Phoenix, AZ



About
I'm a part time poet, usually during waking hours. An idea must be fed and put to bed in harmonic frequency as to the sun moving about the sky. Poetry is exhausting so burn clean my peoples. more..

Writing