Ashes are that remain,
when you burn everything,
flying away with inadvertent pain,
letting you know the missing,
ashes of future,of unfinished acts,
which were let go,
because of time you never had,
they could have been memories of past,
a delightful one,waiting to last,
if you would have trusted the guts,
and never step backed as such.
if you would have raised the bar,
for the dreams,
if you would have listened to the fire,
deep down,
if you would have believed,
that with every burn,
ashes do rise but never as the phoenix,
of  winsome times.