Ash like snow
Kissing my skin, It falls
The bitter warmth of the flame
The crack of the light, it dances

Sirens in the distance announces their presence
“Help” is what they’re called
Yet where were they when it all came crashing down?
Left to the dust, those, without hope

The ringing echoes in my skull
The tactile splinter, the match
Rolls between the two,
My digits, callused and worn

With this, I’ve nothing to return to
And my hope residing, like the wind
It carries me, a new life, a new story
My progressing thought, shivering with the cold

One of my own making
This match, the pen
This place, parchment, fresh & blank
Finally, I’m free
Free unto the flame

As the billowing smoke,
The smell of ash
Releases me
From my past


This poem is about: 
Our world


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