The heat is deep,
Autumn has lit the fire
On a tired day.
Red tongues,
Like a memory of July days,
Smoulder in the darkness.
Ashes fall asleep
Those thoughts that the sun warmed,
Sadness lies down next to it.
A look through the bars,
There a wild fire burns,
And all around is night.
Hot stones
Shine through the thick fog,
Warms loneliness.
The spark burns out,
Along with it the whispers
of the last days of warmth die out.
Sadness the color of fire,
It burns, but does not hurt,
Simply sleeps quietly.
The old tree
Gives its warm spirit
To the cold walls.
The light behind the grid
Seems like a distant paradise,
Which cannot be caught up with.
Coal whispers
About past lush springs,
About frozen time.
The glow fades,
Fingers catch every moment
Of this despair.
A drawing from shadows
Autumn draws on the floor,
The fire falls asleep.
Red sadness
Spread across the room,
Hides in corners.
Smoke under the ceiling
Escapes through the cracks
Of September days.
The crackle of a dry branch
Sounds like a silent conversation
With itself.
The dance of flames
Gradually slows
Its frantic rhythm.
The fire behind the bars
Leaves only the memory
Of a former passion.
The darkness takes its toll,
But the heart remembers
This hot sadness.
The ashes are turning gray,
A cold morning outside the window
The fire is dying down.
The autumn flame
Left a deep mark
On the burnt soul.