Firewood

It’s cold in the folds of these old hills,
The sun did come but darkness won.
I rub my hands to fight off the chill,
And the fire burns in more ways than one.

The house creaks as leaks begin to freeze,
The wind finds perch in walls undone
By idle time which took its fees.
And the fire burns in more ways than one.

Light hits my sight as the fireplace flares.
A lick flicks more wood, a new flame’s begun.
Crackling ivory amidst firey snares,
And the fire burns in more ways than one.

Gone is the dream given up to the now,
Broken for warmth at the set of the sun
Keys and strings are silent, I avow:
The fire burns in more way than one.

Decided to try something a bit different. I don’t usually do poems but I was thinking about lyrical writing, and after listening to Firewood by Regina Spektor, I felt a little inspired to have some fun.

Hopefully, the theme gets across in this. I didn’t want it to be too, too obvious.

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