The Ember

Photo by Michael Foley Photography on


I do not know where the fire comes from
It is hidden, ready to burst
A piece of ember under the ashes

When the flame has died out
The ashes are left, 
Like a thick coat
Like a screed

It doesn’t let anything pass 
But the ember doesn’t die
It remains there

We sometimes need so little
A tiny stimulation
To remove one by one the gray leaves
Undo the uncanny order
Of all these withering years

It sometimes takes very little
To revive
This little piece of fire
That contains the ardor and the madness of all flames 
Of all rebirths 
Of all cures



Text by Alain Joly



Voices from Silence (other poems from the blog)


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