“Cave of Shadows” by Sun


    Embers of faded flames


    form false-new fires;


    emerging orange, a faint heat.


    They kindle us and dwindle


    us, and yes, a xenial zephyr


    can help a hearty flame grow, but


    an abrasive breath can chill the fire like snow.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    And does anyone truly recover?


    Tinder, the hand feeds us, if we’re lucky.


    carefully, just enough digestible tough


    that we swallow and smile instead of choke.


    Too big a log too soon, You’re mother’s a whore,


    and you’ll grow up to make her proud,


    and a budding flame is prone to suffocate.


    There are little flame-doctors, flame proctors,


    flame coaxers and flame hoaxers, flame-fixers


    that offer an endless inferno of solutions and pollutions—


    we collude and conspire, light our sacrificial pyre,


    sit in the syrupy succor of sin; we burn out.


    Some stick around and simmer—not burn—Embers.


    then they birth a new spark;


    little blossoming spark;


    cold, cold, cold forever.