per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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poem
dream
evcelt


Fire in the heart of Winter

The grey groan of wind slides even
To the home's warm core, and the old
Dust-choked corpses of the blizzard lie
Scattered. But sparks flicker here
And there- in the ice, above the clouds
In the static sting of the dry air,
The hearth-flames' hungry, eager rush,
The shifting, constant glow the heart holds-
Some fires cycle, but never die.

2/26/2010


This one was suggested by aspidites, in response to my post about inspiration. Feel free to comment if you have an idea or a title...

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