Spoiler
I wrote this poem while I was tired and grumpy, so do whatever you like to it.
Follow this dying ember
as it falls deeper into
the fog, as its cries
become fainter, weaker;
the gray ash we tread upon.
The clouds have disappeared
into my open palm, and now
the sky is sallow and wasted.
The last flame licks at my heel,
before fading into the darkness.
There is nothing left, is there?
Only this blackened stone.
Only this blackened heart.
