I walk through the airy white ashes

of all the extinguished yesterdays;

along my cheeks, I rub the dark soot,

not like blush, but battle paint

for strength in a war

for internal peace.

There is always a sadness

buried in remains

after the combustion and fall

of what used to reign

so steadfastly,

in the end of the life

of the final ember’s glow

when the rain

saturates the last ignition hope.

The clean up and rebuilding

takes time and effort;

no amount of it can

ever restore the devastation,

for nothing

should ever burn,

save the passion

of united hearts, pure.

I walk through the airy white ashes.

I wish I could have saved it.

The soot tickles my cheek

and encourages me to go on

living,

while remembering

and making out of this,

a difference.

Not all loss

needs to be buried.

We can both move on

and carry,

as long as what we take

is fertile,

so in the worst of conditions,

it will grow

the sprouts and green

of the happiness

we refused to leave behind

in the ashes.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise