The Ashes of the Fire

That once, in winter, when her heart was young,
She felt the world outside / inside the same;
The season when her soul’s true songs were sung,
And bitterness was still outside the frame

Who sees the girl? The woman’s been her fate,
And all that’s left of winter is the cold;
The day is dark, the hour’s growing late,
So much she’s felt, not meant to be controlled –

Sometimes, it’s not the heart that breaks, but more:
The part of her that lived for bigger cause,
The ashes of the fire come before,
The cynic from the idealist that was

A girl so in to everything
Who gave that up for “reasons” —
She cannot bring December back
For she’s lost all
Her seasons

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

7 thoughts on “The Ashes of the Fire”

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