Salamanders of the Ash

Salamanders of the Ash

They slither through the dying embers,

red scales glinting in the smoke,

whispers curl from their mouths like sparks,

the fire bends, obeying their will.

The logs crack and bleed their warmth,

their hearts hollowed by the dancing flames,

I feel the heat of eyes that watch,

ancient, knowing, alive in the dark.

Smoke coils like fingers around my skin,

the salamanders hiss between the shadows,

their tails flicking, scattering sparks,

tiny souls born from the fire’s breath.

I reach for them and my hand burns,

a kiss of flame that cannot be tamed,

they laugh in tongues of smoke and heat,

their bodies dissolving into the night.

The fire consumes everything it touches,

walls, memories, whispers of life,

I watch, powerless, as it devours,

leaving only ash and the faintest glow.

They vanish, leaving trails of ember,

tiny ghosts that linger in my hair,

I feel the dark pulse of fire

beating in the corners of the world.

No warmth remains, only the memory,

the red eyes of salamanders in the dark,

the fire whispers promises of endings,

silent as it folds itself into the earth.

The night leans closer, heavy and thick,

I hear the sparks singing like blood,

the salamanders slipping between shadows,

guardians of the fire that dies too slowly.

Ash drifts like snow from the ceiling,

each flake a fragment of what once burned,

the last flame curls its tongue in farewell,

leaving a hollow where light used to live.