The Fireplace

Sitting in front of the old brick fireplace, flames flickered and sparks fell into the hearth
The flames reminded me of we two, dancing in our youth, bright and colourful
Then settling down to a soft and warm glow, still lighting the night, but in a calm way
We used to toss sparks to the world, starting new fires wherever we travelled

Soft music whispered around a room of full walls and furniture endowed with history
The music was once the drug, once the calling, as we combed our hair and checked the mirror
Ensuring that when we met no other eyes could turn our heads
That history is our lives, so full, so free, as we pursued adventures, with no future, no past to interfere

A clock ticks on the mantelpiece, slowly recording and reminding, the passage of time
Time was a burden, to spend on work, to spend on sleep, to spend on others
We wore a watch, not to pace that day, but to count down to those evenings when we would waste time away, together
The diary of our passage, slowly consuming our years, catching up, trying to overtake

A photograph sits beside the clock, an intricate frame of gold, displaying our faces to the world
Moments in time, captured best in our minds, causing laughter or tears, but always remembered
We ensured a wealth of images, of no value to any but ourselves, for only we knew the memories behind the faces
Those faces, smiling, overtaken and absent; we smile back and continue on our path together for eternity

©2004 Hey Hey

Wow. I really like this poem. It has a lot of "meat", so to speak. Very nice structure, and a very nice example of freelance poetry.

rosediamond you made me feel good. Thank you.