Ashes Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

Let us break our bread with travelers,
And feast on ashen ruin in the face of stolen graves.
To them a nighttime stroll is nothing more than simple footsteps,
A candle in the cradle of the sea.
Yet our visitations were known by few,
The least of these the bones of men,
And a little bit of earth was left behind to guide the way.
All wise men know such fictions
Will as such no more remain.
But ragged oaks grow oft too close,
For comfort in the day,
And shimmerings of heaven spill from twilight's golden gates.
So bless the sparrow-fed redemption,
Clinging to our flesh to mold
Our loss into a multitude
Of every twisted throne.
Yet the burning of the hearthstones
Left a melting of the fire,
As the flames would trickle down into
Oblivion's embrace.