I keep your face between shadow and flame,
a memory smoldering, never gone.
It glows in the hollow of silence,
where grief bends close to listen.
The animals still carry your voice—
a crow wheeling black against gold,
the low breath of cattle in the dusk.
Yet even the fire remembers its ash.
Love burns, but doubt leans in with smoke,
curling its fingers through the ribs of memory.
Still—I do not release the ember.
In the dark, I feel its stubborn heat,
a light enough to guide the broken path,
a flame that flickers, but does not die.
About the Creator
Taylor Ward
From a small town, I find joy and grace in my trauma and difficulties. My life, shaped by loss and adversity, fuels my creativity. Each piece written over period in my life, one unlike the last. These words sometimes my only emotion.
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Comments (1)
Oh this is gorgeous imagry. Especially love these lines: "Love burns, but doubt leans in with smoke, curling its fingers through the ribs of memory."