The fragile ash remains. It holds the shape of what was.

Shake it, the form breaks and is forgotten.

Blow ever-so-gently

Pursed lips.

Cinders scatter.

Or just leave it to gravity 

To bring it down.

Life’s denouement.

–Tim Philippart

Tim sold his business, retired to write and discovered that wasn’t very retired at all. He ghost blogs, writes poetry, nonfiction and an occasional magazine piece.  He loves writing and wishes he had not waited decades to pick up the pen. Send emails to timphilippart@yahoo.com and visit www.imaginiscent.net

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