Cinder
We needed fire to make
the tongs and tongs to hold
us from the flame; we needed
ash to clean the cloth
and cloth to clean the ash's
stain; we needed stars
to find our way, to make
the light that blurred the stars;
we needed death to mark
an end, an end that time
in time could mend.
Born in love, the consequence –
born of love, the need.
Tell me, ravaged singer,
how the cinder bears the seed.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUS3VjGaXv4Q_muFmr9Uk9IxWKJ7g3NI88Rc9wawAe7AV6MCInlbTN_JYI-vzVu2J1tZ5hDt9SGm1Fj0QdGq5xvX2bNkDP0c06qedbuWcjitV5xPpZkzDykD0v9qrnsSj2NOQ17kKCYw/s400/220px-11202012_FRSStewart_013.jpg)
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