Life doesn’t look the same now as it did at 15
There were no dark shadows,
And there was only of hope.
At that age, bumps and bruises quickly healed
At thirty-seven, hard knocks of loosing friends
Don't heal -- they scar.
I love fireplaces,
I am drawn to cast iron fireplaces,
They are magical and mystical.
This morning I wrote of scars.
This afternoon I wrote of fire
Now, the two tie together.
When a piece of wood burns until it smoulders,
A flame can be renewed by scraping off ashy layers
Revealing the live wood beneath.
I have stopped looking for what I've lost,
I have scraped off the dead, burnt layers,
I have found the core within to ignite life in me again. ~Dip |
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