Under A Dusk Sky

ASHES

On that winter of December, there I sat and stared so long
Staring at the glowing embers—dancing fires in the hearth,
And that fire, stillness of air much depressing, thought of none,
Nothing came and nothing whispered but the only name “Fabian”.

The fire dance and metamorphose in a face I’ve seen before,
Like the sunlight it was bearing; bearing as I watch it glaring—
Glaring from above the heavens and with that, the embers sadden,
Like the twilight starts to sink in neath the azimuth of dismal.

The embers felt melancholy, and an ember was my heart.
Methink a nightly strange, addictive air—yes, a wind they were!
And wind, it howled a song I’ve heard from tides thrashing neath the cliffs,
The waters now beneath the cliffs was frozen cold alike my heart—

The ice it broke and crushed into warring fragments of ashes,
Like the crystals I perceive, while I watch the fires at ease—
Still is dancing, still is dancing—dancing with the lack of wind,
And the wind that rove around, whispers nothing but a name.

And that name I ever heard on a winter of December—
Always haunts the concord feelings I have never felt before,
Now it blaze and flared like starlight, ever shining in a haze,
Never clear and never near that I am wanting to embrace—

But that feelings are like fire—dancing, singing, on the embers,
Even when I wish to hold it dearly in between my palms
For it only leaves a burning and an everlasting scar—
And the scar would glow like embers, nothing but just memories.

Thus the memories fade away to which the fires danced again
Showing much alike the strokes of brush on a neat canvas,
There I watch it paint again the same framework of his visage,
Just a mere seraphic face I ought to ever just forget.

The bygone faces it flourish evanesced to turn to ashes,
Silver yet dull; silver yet dead, like the embers crying for death—
And my heart a dying ember, now cremated to turn to ash.
And that winter of December, there I promised to forget.