The Cold Earth by Nathan Sweem

I met a woman in the wilderness
Crouched beside a fire,
Tearing off bits of rope
And throwing them into the pit.

I asked, "What are you burning, and Why?"

She said, "I am burning time,
Because I like to watch it burn."
It was the string of her years,
And she did not blink
As curling tongues
Devoured her days,
But she kept on feeding it.

The flame in her eyes
Was the flame in mine;
She was a reflection of myself,
And I would not look away.

When the final ember
Crumbled to ash,
She was remiss,
Because she had nothing left
To burn.

The darkness took her,
And I was alone.

The night tore at my vision,
Shadows howling at the cold earth,
As I wandered.

And I wandered

Nathan Sweem writes fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry from his home in Southern Oregon. Connect with him on social media @nathan_sweem