deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to Fire
There was a theme to the Leos.
A bold, unfailing theme of fuckery
because hindsight is a hell of a drug.
Truth is, I didn’t hear you leave.
Pad-foot God.
You and your blazing eyes
caught up in a massacre
and that’s how it felt—
as if I was a doe
decaying slowly.
As if the killer in you
painted my skin with ash.
Published 6th Apr 2024
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
6/30
6/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5
reading list entries 2
comments 6
reads 173
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
6th Apr 2024 11:43am
Your poem is so beautifully expressed and powerfully delivered. I love it!
6th Apr 2024 9:09pm
6th Apr 2024 7:56pm
6th Apr 2024 9:10pm
8th Apr 2024 8:37pm
There is a world of magic in this little jewel. I had never thought of hindsight as having the qualities of a drug, but of course it does. That compulsive dragging of the self from now to then and back again, a loop, from the needle in my phantom arm to the memory dragging along behind. How compulsive, acquisitive we are. I am. And always the thought of "this time will be different. I have *learned*. Well, no I haven't. The 20/20 never reveals the fractals that first visit back nor the nth because it goes on forever, each an encyclopedia unread.
Brilliant. I hate you.
Brilliant. I hate you.
9th Apr 2024 9:07am
