WINTER's BLAST

The timeline's getting blurry

By the winter fire
a pair of chairs inspire;
their empty seats require
a look into my past.

Hands that rubbed them bare
are now no longer there;
with evening's dinner prayer
they folded in repast;

here with future me
they sit eternally,
and someday I will be
a memory at last;

In a future storm
I'll sit and keep you warm
My memory will form
within the winter's blast...

and I'll be home at last.