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The Hearth Unavoidable
Although history always sits as a reminder
one can often forget the unease in times of plenty
supplied in succour of sweet warmth in love
the cold can be a distant memory
Each revival of self like each new born moth
soaking the ample freedom of its wings
moving confidently into the flame that
not long has tasted the burn of the previous
an unending cycle of pain and rebirth
is the distant yet present sting of the cold
that makes the brief warmth so good to hold
for what else signals home but a well lit fire
for when material burns and naught is left
whilst the winds blow against you
and the last of your peers are gone
what else but the hearth to return to
