Dying Embers

Here's an older poem discovered in my dusty archives, that I decided to rescue and share with you.

DYING EMBERS

The clock moves on – a metronome
Of this quiet hour in the gloam
The firewood crackles suddenly
The flames twist on their feeding spree

The fire leaps a haunting dance
My mind bristles – another chance
To dive into a paradise
Of childhood feelings, throw the dice –

Feelings flare up, course throw my veins
Dead memories relive their pains:
I had forgotten, now they burst
And mingle with my newer thirst...

© George H.E. Koehler, 1986 (taken from the collection Haunted Lives)