Smoldering Wood

December 10, 2010
Darkness, but with tiny dimples of light
Flares of hot embers trying to reignite
Looking safe to touch
But burning your hand in spite

The kind of color of not knowing:
Is it safe, or a trap
On the outside: crumbling to show,
Show the grey with the dancing reds
Spinning as if in a never ending waltz

The embers settle
hoping they will be needed later
but unsure, they sit
waiting for something
wishing they can continue their dance





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