Cinder

A house with holes
Where windows should be
Diffusing beams of
Light; No fight
Is nearly over
No whistles through the roof

A house with holes
Where windows should be
Diffusing beams of
Light; No fight
Is nearly over
No whistles through the roof

Laments and smoke
Where stonewalls should be
Lowering the odds
I resile again
Closing the doors

Every fear has filled
The Air; and it has outsmelted
The burned
Whole town is made of
Agony; for what is to come

Every breath
Inside is Silent; but the panes are all
Smudged
Whole town is made of
Cinders; and the rain
Cuts the thread

Laments and smoke
Where stonewalls should be
Empty jars
Before they are shattered

Every fear has filled
The Air; and it has outsmelted
The burned
Whole town is made of
Agony; for what is to come

Every breath
Inside is Silent; but the panes are all
Smudged
Whole town is made of
Cinders; and the rain
Cuts the thread