By The Fire

Age gnaws at life without respite; incessantly; insidiously; unnerving in its non–rhythmicity…

I stoke the fire: a cackling ember breaks ranks, deluded by escape.I put it out, as I often do with the searing pain of my memories, and I up the volume, letting the hi-fi sing a solemn Carl Orff.

I turn to stoke the fire again, staring at the blankness.

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About Mauro Metallo

A Writer and Photographer equally at home in Italy and in Canada.

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