Fire in the dark
Fire.
I miss him.
I miss his warmth, which passes through clothes and touches my face.
For a long time, it was not possible to just sit by the fire in the evening, relax and just watch him dance.
But now I only have photos from this summer. When there was no chance to relax.
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I wait for the evening,
When the real hearth
Ignite again.
However, the warmth
Still lives in the heart,
Warms through the years.
Time flies,
Leaving us only
Frames to remember.
This cozy smoke
Remained somewhere far away,
In the days gone by.
The light from the campfire
Draws bizarre shadows
On the dry earth.
The wood crackles,
The coals burn hot
In the darkness of the night.
Now I look
At this hot flame
Through the cold screen.
Only work,
Cases held tight
All the hot days.
Then too there was
No easy chance
For rest.
A memory in a photo,
Where the fire blazes
In an iron bowl.
But now I
Only have photos
Of last summer.
It circles smoothly,
Changing strange shapes
On the burning wood.
To watch quietly,
As the golden tongues
Begin to dance.
To forget everything,
Finally relax
In the silence of the night.
To sit simply,
When there is peace around
And no hurry.
It has been a long time since
Such a simple moment
By the fire.
It touches
My face gently
On cool days.
There is a lack of warmth,
That gently passes
Through thick clothes.
I miss it,
This living bonfire
In the evening.
Fire in the dark,
Red bright sparks
Cut the night through.