A spark, caught a drift
Nuzzles against the dead
This rawest ember is stricken,
Crafted amongst bitter winds

A piercing contrast
And heat that basks
Amongst its withered nest
An idea perhaps, or is all that's left

These days of silence and seldom solace
Appear to bring my thoughts to a close
As this mind numbing content of static
And corroded heart from boiled acid
Further wither while a fire grows

You may feel warm
But the fact remains
Sooner or later it'll end in ashes