A Few Old Coals

What good is a man who's lost his soul?

. . .

The last of the flame dances inside of my soul.

A small smouldering pile of ashes,

Sits on top of a few old coals.

These bones can't take much more breaking.

This head is tired and aching.

My muscles are pleading with me.

Telling me that I've done enough.

Telling me to drop the act.

Telling me

There is no comeback.

There is no comeback . . .

But, then I hear the wind again,

       Asking a question in the rustling of the leaves on the lone tree next to me,

“What could you become?”

That's all it asks,

And then it's gone,

And that’s all it takes for the old coals to catch. 

It takes only a whisper for the fire to live again, and flicker against the inevitable darkness. 

-CH 6/18/25