Embers

Bryn Evans • June 30, 2024

Chapter Tags: Literary Arts, Philosophy

When time cannot erase the marks of pain

And peace will not avail a piecemeal cure,

When weary mind has laboured hours in vain

To find, amidst the torment, scant succour.

When grief patrols the gatehouse of the mind

Its stifling rule unmoved by bitter tears;

Content, a call consistently declined,

Shrill pleas once more ignored by callous ears.

What barren shrub might finally bear fruit,

When all seem years away from gracious greening?

How can the welcome blooms of love take root,

When light and warmth have all but lost their meaning?

From deep in blackened soil there’s felt a tremor,

A sign of life or but a dying ember?