ASHES
Now another torture,
Greater than the first…
Will ashes burn??
I see my pile, neatly swept
In the center of an empty bedroom floor,
Surrounded by so much space.
A summer breeze sneaks under the door
Lapping at the edges of the grey heap.
Some fragile flakes flutter upward,
The remains shudder a collective sigh,
Too deep for words,
Too dry for tears,
Too quiet for almost any sound at all,
Sit lightly and heavily on the cold wood.
I remember when the ashes had substance,
Movement and life, smiles and laughter,
All manner of good will.
Yes, I remember.
Do those sparkling green eyes
Still behold this mound of disarticulate mud?
The lips are both wondrous and dangerous.
Wondrous at the velvet caresses on my former self,
Dangerous that they hold the very breath
That can blow these ashes
Into a cloud of dismembered passions.
I cringe.
I am waiting….for a kiss….or an exhalation
I cringe
And hope.
Poe et here 
John, i was able to visit this ash-filled room …and found myself self-absorbed…too taken in with a place I once lived in…where old memories consumed me and ate my future, because I couldnt let go of the past.
Now i live in another place, and try not to enter that house where i left my heart…where it died and where I lost hope….
but it sounds like your ashes have embers and you have not lost hope…..