They took his body.
They put it to flame
and set his ashes free.
But they aren't ashes,
these are embers.
Still red and smoldering,
and burning the memory into my heart.
If you deny that they were embers,
that it was only grey dust flying.
Say that it was only air and ash in that wind.
And not soul and ember,
then there's no way you were there that day.
I know,
I felt that ember.
The wind placed it gracefully on my cheek.
I felt it on my face.
Before tears washed it away,
that ember burned itself into me.
In the air,
I know it burns.
I felt that burn.
I felt that sting.
I felt that pain.
It's still healing too.
I still see his scar in my soul,
and his embers smolder on floating in the warm wind's soul.
In the air,
I know it burns.
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