My Soul, My Fire

Snow sits quietly on the cold
Timelesly old, ground at my desperate moment
I write in the cold, next to a dying fire
I open my pores and seek it's desire
More fuel to burn on, but no doubt it's time I put my fire out
Alas, it seems futile when stating at my end
I go where the wind takes me
I hope I come back again
Whether my choice or chances a pledge
No more missed dances
It's beyond the intention of my souls direction
Believing there is Good in people
Our intuition of what duties loom beneath you
There lies such despair down there
Where our fears seek to be true
A soul so lost and destructive
It's futile to be near you, like fire hot from the sun
A love reluctantly bleeding dry, as I begin to die.