How do you lay flowers
on a grave
of something still alive?
Haunted by
the amogheist,
do we mourn
or
should we rage?

To be aflame
in the throes
of passion,
warm and comfortable
only to remember
how cold
the world can seem
when fires
are extinguished.

Memory can be
a blessing,
or a curse.
Do we haunt
or are we haunted?
Left with words unsaid
and eyes
bathed of
fading moonlight.

Grateful to be reminded
of a flame
thought dead,
but lamenting
the knowledge
of how fleeting
it can
be.