On Divorce

The gentle shadows touch my hand.
I hear the damp wood softly sigh.
The flames call back forgotten dreams,
but I have no more tears to cry.

The firelight plays chasing games
with old mem'ries that fill my mind.
The smoke that drifts off in the night
carries the hopes I've left behind.

The cherished past must quiet bide.
The busy present has no time
to mourn the hopes that we have killed.
To linger there would be a crime.

It's better to let loose the past
than cling to what no more can be.
And loneliness is easier
than living a dead memory.

So I will gaze into the fire
while, one last time, my dreams return.
I'll watch them sparkle in the blaze
and then I'll watch them slowly burn.