Whispers in the Smoke

**Whispers in the Smoke**

The fire has died, but still, it speaks,

In curling ghosts and silver streaks.

Its breath still lingers, soft yet bold,

A tale of love now burned and cold.

The walls once warm with laughter’s glow,

Now stand in silence, charred and low.

Shadows dance where light once lay,

Ashes drift where memories stay.

I hear your voice within the haze,

A fading song from distant days.

It weaves through embers, lost, alone,

A whisper shaped from dust and stone.

Your touch was flame—wild, bright, untamed,

A spark too fierce to be contained.

Yet love, like fire, is never still,

It burns, it fades—it bends to will.

The wind exhales, the past unwinds,

Smoke traces paths we left behind.

I reach, but every ghostly thread

Slips through my hands, the words unsaid.

And though the fire has turned to night,

The whispers rise, still burning white.

Not lost, not gone—just left to be

A breath of smoke, a memory.