Closing the book
wherein I laid
my memories,
I rest the tireless pen
atop the aged leather.

The fire, still roaring,
Looked more alluring.

I nestled by the warmth
of the charred hearth

The flames crept slowly out
to embrace my body
taking me in.

Fuel for the fire
I give myself
to the pyre.

The pain, oh how it stings.

Absence of you
Echoes like soles
Speaking in empty halls.

The darkness will never be alit
with your smile.

Our world once spent
Together
Is now in Isolation.

Peace and tranquility
I hope find you
&
Stay themselves
In your ethereal heart.

Her love was unmatched
It was violent
Like the tide.

The deepest blue
waters held
all her secrets.

Her touch, warm and welcoming
Always comforting.

Nothing more pleasant
Than hearing my name
Escape her lips.

As quickly as her memory
arrives
It fades.

Allowing cold to enter
and keep its
stay.

My hand traces letters
that will build the scene
for hope.

It was you that installed
my ability for hope.

Learning was an endless
journey
to which I never grew tired
or weary.

Your hands held
the weight of my world
in their palms.

All of the joys in this world
were gifts
from you.

Smiles seen for miles
lighting the darkest
chasms.

Hope came from you.

A most precious
gift.

Upon opening the great oak door,
a warmth greeted me.

There, inside the room devoid of any souls but my own,
sat a single desk neath the lonely window
&
the counterpart chair tucked between its legs.

The fire lowly roared,
its flame filling the room with soft beams of light
escaping through the window.

As I close the door behind me, the latch clicking shut,
I notice a journal, tattered and aged,
beside a pen and jar of ink.

The journal empty
the pen worn from more hands than one.

I pull out the chair, its feet vibrating against the floor
the sound reverberating off the walls
echoing into the vaulted ceiling.

I held the pen, and dipped it into the ink
black as coal, and stained the pages
with my reflections.

Memories.

I made my way to the front.

The invitation was subtle.

The cold gray stones
shifted
cracked
and
chipped
under the pressure of my heels.

Dark
Worn
Splintered
Rails

Drew my hands, ever so familiar.

I pressed up the aged steps
to a door of old wood & character.
Its constitution still intact and uncompromised.

An iron handle, worn smooth from visitors past,
waited for my embrace
and the latch, warm to the touch,
gave way under my eager thumb.

Shrouded by a thicket of trees
a humble building sat.

Earthen brown & her windows
aged.
That old glass topped with frost and dirt.

Gently, I clear the thin veil
with my beaten hands.

Lo, there lay the roaring flame.

Neslted on the hearth
within the mantle.

Awestruck in its beauty,
I lost myself to time.

Day tenderly fell to dusk
and dark laid the pines.

I peered through that glass.

Lo, there lie the roaring flame.