Exsightings

Fire has always been a hypnotist to humans. You sit there and look into the flames, and in those flames you see visions and imaginings, old roses and sealed rooms, fields of gold and gates of horn and ivory. I was going to write about the older flames, but a voice from the past reminded me about things best you should remember to forget and things you should forget to remember.

And I think I will write more, but not just yet.

Grey Areas

There is a world where no more angels go
Where armoured hearts beat out the passing years
Confident in nothing, bold in dismay;
Here are the ashes of our yesterday,
Here are the echos of our fallen tears,
Here is the valley of eternal snow.

And yet one scents the iron in the frost,
One hears the distant horn of Roland lost;
And though the sun has swept its circle out
These many ages clouded here in doubt

There are still kings beneath the silted dross.
A tarnished helm, a chapel in the moss -
Now here and there, the light of dawn returns;
And in the ashen hearth, a fire burns.