I move closer to the fire for warmth,
The smoke stings my eyes.
A metaphor for something;
I know not what as I stumble backwards,
Betrayed in my blinded state.

Now it subsides and I see
The embers glowing ever clearer
As fuel turns to ash.

Curls evaporate in the sky, disperse,
Never reaching the moon,
Protected by Empyreal glow.