ASHES - A POEM

She materialised along a foggy riverside.

Stabbing stilettos echoed at the midnight hour.

She was distant at the feet of the clock tower,

Splashing through rain puddles, or maybe piss,

Or broken innocence on those deserted streets,

Where scowling policemen walked the beat.

She didn't answer when I called out her name,

Fading into the shadows of the cold sombre night,

Where memories remain like a stubborn flame,

When we used to dance underneath the city lights.

A flicker and flash took us to the past.

We sat together at a table in a corner,

In a place where everyone knew my face,

Amongst the last of the big time drinkers,

Who often witnessed my falls from grace.

She spoke of what she thought she knew,

For she couldn't grow into what she knew.

I recall the time I saw her by a fountain,

On a brisk autumn day in the city centre,

Where she was with a failed comedian.

I wasn't sure at first, but it was her,

With her smile withered away,

And all I could do was turn away.

I fell upon her name in a newspaper,

One white morning in the winter,

Sat by the window in that corner.

They found her in a land faraway,

Washed up on a bay under the sun,

After they killed more than her time.

I see her on the streets around here,

That form her presence back here,

Where she comes and disappears,

In moments as fleeting as life itself.

She comes and goes with the wind,

Which blows through these streets,

Whipping the flames of memories.
The fearsome fires flicker and flash.

Blazing, burning, they turn me to ash.