After the Fire
When the fire was over,
I walked through the ash with careful steps.
Smoke curled like ghosts that had nowhere to go.
The air was heavy with what used to be.
I found a single chair still standing.
Its shadow long, its meaning simple.
We build, we burn, we build again,
and still call it living.
The trees around me whispered their grief,
their voices brittle but unbroken.
Even in ruin, the world keeps breathing.
Even in ruin, there is rhythm left.
By dusk, small green shoots appeared.
The first defiance of despair.
I knelt, touched the soil, and felt its promise.
Not everything ends where it falls.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
Deep, meaningful and beautifully expressed. Loved it, Marie.
You give one pause in reading this one. We should replant when able after these fires. Good job.