A Man of Smoke

Once I saw a shape on smoke, swaying away at the cemetery.

Pillars of names spread across the marble town, and thus spread was he.

As I approached with my curiosity,

He retreated into a shaped entity.

Covering a heart of glowing ember, the skin of wisps tore as he spoke,

“This land you stand on holds cut down dream and imprisoned hope,

For men who lay here had names, longed to be remembered and faces that longed to be known.

I feel right with me in this smoky lace,

Unless known for a deed, what worth is a face.

A life time these men have crossed;

Nothing but stones remain of their names.

As good as my wisps of smoke,

Millions I cross, without a trace.”,

With this I felt wronged, “What of the memories within?

With smoke for flesh and heart of ember, would you ever know what happiness is?”

“This fire you see,

Is what has created me and will go on creating me.

This ember here makes me restless;

But it makes me, much like me.

And that, dear name, is my happiness.”

Thus, without any traces,

Rose away the man of smoke, bearing his embers

Into the world of faces.

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