pyrolysis

we do not birth stones
all things born
must bend
like stubborn weeds
through concrete
young sapling hearts
pliable and tender
dancing bending bowing
fragile and resilient
but charcoal
was once a tree
whose dancing
was burned away
we must not forget
that hardened hearts
are manufactured
that the flames
they spread
started not with them
nor will they be their
end
but charcoal
when not alight
can also soften
into an artist's pen
there is no hardness
stronger than our
ability to bend

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