Fires Gone

There's changing winds
blowing......
Darkness bows only
to the twinkling verse,
A torch carried
in cold hearts
it's known as history.
  Meat will always be rare
and rotten, while fruit tastes sour;
Fickle overused word
forgotten,
that feeling that danced on tips of tongues
carried men and women
on floating clouds miles
into ecstasy,
Or the way two pairs of eyes mirrored by light of the moon,
The summer heat that begged retreat
Kept our hands exploring well past June.
Seasons, a constant representation,
when flames burned highest
through winter torture
thoughts were more or less with you than mine own.
   I await..........
A caveman's fate
to dwell depressions dark cave
without a match
or hopeful spark
she'd look into soul
remember
who we are,
but technology dependably driven statues
stripped of senses
always looking down
hard risen zombies
to each oppressing dawn.
Ode to winds of change
that blew to smoke from flame
left me questioning
is the fire really gone?