Late-Night Phone Call Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Maybe old emotions
are not like ashes,
but more like embers,
still pulsating with fire
and energy.

Once they were towering,
like loblolly pine trees
or 100 year-old oaks,
too high to scale.

Now they lie smouldering
in the hearth of my heart
cooling, dying,
but still emanating heat.

They self-ignite
on cold, rainy nights,
when in the chill
and loneliness,
I dial your number
and talk and laugh with you
until midnight.