What does one do with a burnt out fire?
The ashes are here, but not desire.
Residual proof of what I once held---
Fleeting:  memories of oaken trees felled.
Brother collectors, whose work is complete
taste it akin to me; something unique:
The fact is collections (like my heart, whole)
have all the components, save for that hole
left by the fury, drive and frustration
Requisite for our very creation.
Second fact is wholesome hearts freed of greed,
Unfettered by love, (the great earthly need!)
Have no direction or key to the map
So listlessly wonder with toe a-tap.
Completed soul, with perfect attention:
buying cars perfected  without engine.

Beauty resides in the sun's setting
It's a contract promising to bear life:
A brand new day shall be created, letting
We ravens drift on rays, devoid o' strife.
The price: darkness; interest: accrued starshine---
Always succumbing to sun without signs.
Did Eve know of the deal? Was she lost?
As sun set, did she fear the awful night?
Perhaps she ate the fruit this way, the cost
of our race established for lack of light?
Dusk and autumn beauteous are, recall
this ever, e'en as you begin to fall.

Tides
Ice
Waves
Ebb and Flow
Especially the flow
Pushing and pulling where a fire flickers...
Ever romantic, ever steady,
In its ever changing way.
For water's life, the oceans' breath,
and Titantic's icy knife are all within.
Mist
Cloud
Dew
Each a puzzle
piece; vying just to die
In the arms of the other;
A circle of life: wholesome--- complete.
Rain
Snow
Sleet
Within my body
do meet. No trinity holier,
Nor giver of life so distinct.
Ebb and Flow. Push and Pull. Past and Present. A wave to overwhelm them all am I.

Ribcages
Teachers say it was made to hold stuff in.
We know better, 'twas made to stop heart's din
From leaking and squeezing out of our skin.
God noticed how people ****** madness
Then laid our hearts in ivory baskets.
Slits would serve as a 'ternal exhibit
For none may discord's glow inhibit.
Said light meets canvas, marble, and silver
to create art and glee! born of ether.
'Tis only man that keeps chaos so near,
To hold out a hand, or to lend an ear.
Swirling mass in an ivory basket,
let it go 'ere you both rest in casket.

Blessed be they, whose strings hum low and short:
These Notes are famous in earth and heaven;
More oft' than not, they frolic with echoes.
Blessed be they, whose strings hum long and shrill:
Waves they create run high and low and far
Finding another is about the wait.
The altos absent of vantage or base
Roll 'midst the others vying for a face
To harmonize in pitch, tenor, and bass.
Going up, going down, at any rate,
Means a change in the pace set for the race.
The question remains now, not high or low?
But will vicissitudes alter their fate?