Embers

The creatures of the forest slowly melt away into fabric
The fireflies guide the way into the withered plains of old
I see the water thicken, embers rising from my wrists
I begin to realize, we are not made from gold

I light the fire with leaves from the willow trees
A lone campsite, isolated from the plains
Tinted skies and broken roads still haunt me
I struggle to stare into its gaze
As I wash out the blinding flame