deepundergroundpoetry.com
and burn
There was a kindling, a flicker -
Way before the blooming of warmth -
It was there. Built up.
It was sticks and stones,
Bared to the elements -
Stripped,
Aflame.
And whispers crack the silence -
Perhaps in codes,
Perhaps straight arrows,
Certainly -
Not a promise of any tomorrow.
A gunshot.
A melody.
Quiet and waiting -
Then piercing the silence in me.
Perhaps an explosion.
Something that no one would hear or see,
Shrapnels and debris -
Cuts, bleeding, burns -
Burns -
This destruction that could be
The inside of me.
The flame managed to crawl under my skin and I shiver.
Now I just stare and wonder -
After the ashes settle,
In the rubble, in the burning chaos,
In the embers of memory and haze,
Where will the fire leave me,
What comes after?
Way before the blooming of warmth -
It was there. Built up.
It was sticks and stones,
Bared to the elements -
Stripped,
Aflame.
And whispers crack the silence -
Perhaps in codes,
Perhaps straight arrows,
Certainly -
Not a promise of any tomorrow.
A gunshot.
A melody.
Quiet and waiting -
Then piercing the silence in me.
Perhaps an explosion.
Something that no one would hear or see,
Shrapnels and debris -
Cuts, bleeding, burns -
Burns -
This destruction that could be
The inside of me.
The flame managed to crawl under my skin and I shiver.
Now I just stare and wonder -
After the ashes settle,
In the rubble, in the burning chaos,
In the embers of memory and haze,
Where will the fire leave me,
What comes after?
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