In a Hearth

This fire doesn’t burn to touch
And I’m not sure I like it
It was once bright, tall… a beacon on a mountain
And now, in a hearth, it quietly sits
Crackling and hissing
Only occasionally having a fit
While it’s a comfort, I can’t help but wonder
Is it also a testament

Of one burnt out,
Burned,
Smothered,
Or purposefully quenched and dispassionate





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Photo by Colter Olmstead on Unsplash