Distant Ember

Many times I have wished,

To see myself as others see me.

And to notice even the deepest flaws,

To ponder if they should be looked into or ignored.

Often, I wonder how life would be if I agreed with myself,

To listen to my emotions and defy my rambling thoughts.

Rather, I inspect and pick at it until it turns into ash,

Watching it fall into a deep, smoking pit.

When I carefully look into the dirty mirror,

I can see a stranger inside me.

Sharp edged like a dagger, but soft like a feather,

And the intense, emotionless glance.

Many times I have wished to be that reflection,

Someone I don’t recognize.

But I know myself all too well,

It’s just another mocking image.

My thoughts whisper me pretty things,

A facade of the ugly.

My fears and worries tattooed on my mind,

Whirling, twisting, and caging it.

Yet, my heart beats of hope,

Speaking high spirits.

These wild things collide with my mind,

It is very odd how they disagree.

Often, I wonder if I stared at that smoking pit of ashes

That graveyard of broken dreams.

I would see that distant spark again

I am too reluctant to descend, but foolishly I do.

In the end, I imagine I would let the ember warm the cold tips of my fingers,

And I crouch down in the crunching ashes.

For I know if I abandon these thoughts and emotions, 

I would let the fluttering ashes would bury me.

In the end, I grasp the soft ember,

And climb up the slippery ashes.

For I know something the ashes don’t,

And I hide my stretching smile.

The ember is me,

I am the ember.

When we burn,

We’ll never have to listen to the cackling ashes.