The Ash

The ash,
Rising.
Becoming lost and undefined in the same grey color.
Looking back the fire should never have been lit.
The flame should never have risen.
Moreover, the ash…the ash should never have burned.
Nevertheless, it is still there.
Unmovable, floating, hanging- 
Like the damper vision of snow
Lacking in purity and innocence-
Fleeting, light, it falls apart at the touch.
You can smell it, an earth, smoke-filled, dead smell.
It permeates. 

Fills your clothing.
Dries your eyes.
It is ash.
Dead, broken, and burnt.
With no other answers, I would offer a question
If the fire never burnt, would there still be ash?

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