Ashen One

She was fire.

Not the red of the flame, but the black of the coal. She scattered like ash, as fluid as smoke. She filled the room, left you gasping. She did not burn but simmered, slow and beautiful, dancing over debris.

A dark-laced hand reaches for me.

Pulling me closer, she engulfs me, scorching skin, devouring. Enamoured from the first spark, as dust floating upon a chilling breeze, howling darkness settling upon the corpse of the once afraid; I am reborn, a phoenix, soaring on the coat-tails of her power.

If God is real, I have found her.

Her absence leaves me hollow. Untamed, unrestrained, she converts and then she flees. Alone, I crave the warmth, the heat, the danger, could I chase her? No, for she is gone, no trace or trickle left, except the scorched earth, the charred branches, the lure of smoke, spreading to and fro, no trail to follow.

I will wait for her.

Until I'm buried, gone forever, I will wait for her. In every flame, I will remember. In the sun, I will sing, by candlelight I will sigh. In fireworks I will feel her touch, in gunpowder I shall lament; a remnant in all that was and all that shall be, guiding my life once more to ecstasy.