I sit beside the fire and think,
thoughts fleeting yet still so distinct.
So many things pass through my mind,
some harsh, some soft, some cruel, some kind.

Popping wood and flickering flames,
so many long forgotten names.
Burning bright for all its life,
Does this fire share our strife?

Feed the flames or they die out,
without a whimper or a shout.
Flashing color, fleeting thought,
In the end, all for naught.

If the fire burns, it remains,
going on despite the pains.
If I think, I am still here,
going on despite the tears.