Bonds form and tessellate among the weary ash.
A drip pan drifting onto a solemn scurry
as she wipes away the tears in forlorn flurry.
It looked upon her mantle with nostalgia and
she looked into its heart before prodding the beast.

It died before it lived in equal harmony.
No point in seeking ill will of the lepers.
But there might some semblance of resentfulness.
A bitter bile resting in lips who confess.  
Or maybe it’s an illusion of a locks and key.