Long Since Gone

A mantle, bare,
holds no memory
for the old hopes
it once shared.

No photographs,
trinkets,
or artifacts

await

to recall the
missing pieces
that once fit
there.

Neither the warmth,
nor the reflection
of the fire,

burning
above

the hearth’s stone,
can tell the story
of the ones

long
since
gone.

There is no fire,

but coal and ashes
will always remain.

Remains…?

How can this place,
where fires once raged,
breathe such chill…?

My bones ache.

Hand-in-hand,
warmth went
with memory
along that
lonesome,
unlit road.

Split-oak effigy.
A fire needs a spark.

A cord of wood
doesn’t equal what it should
if each piece
is a memory
lurking
inside

this impenetrable
dark-

nessss.

Frozen hands reach,
but never find
sticks
or leaves,
to start the blaze,
no photographs left
to twist,
or kindle,
so I could use them
for the same.

There are no pictures,
and,
in the dark,
the covering glass
is just

too cold.

Leave the mantle bare.

I choose the baubles
and if a dying warmth
is needed,

I will burn the home.


©️ Obol, 2020.

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