Ember

An oft-used cliche stipulates
That we all are running.
To something,
From something,
Sometimes around something.
But I don’t agree.
I have nothing to run towards,
Nothing to run from,
And nothing to run around.
I drift through time and space
As if an ember,
Cast from a fire,
Fated to spiral to great heights amidst a column of smoke
But then to curl into the cool air,
And fall,
And land,
And fade into darkness.