A shadow smeared in tarnished grace,
A silver wound, a time misplaced.
The ash still clings where fire fed,
A mark that lingers, bruised in red.

The smoke still hums in solemn rings,
A song of all that burning brings.
The taste of heat, the lips of flame,
The loss that never learned a name.

A touch that scars, a whispered brand,
A ruin carved by unseen hand.
Yet even when the flames subside,
The embers smirk, the coals still chide.

And though the night may paint anew,
May drench the walls in softer hues,
The past still gleams, the past still sighs,
A silver stain in silent eyes.