Power (Day 18)

(National Poetry Writing Month keeps going.)

I want to strike a match

and drop it into the crisp leaves

on the edge of a forest trail

then walk slowly away from the flames

tasting the smoke as I inhale

feeling the heat at my back

hearing worried birdsong and

far-off sirens

that will arrive too late to 

contain my blaze

and when

it’s all gone

reduced to black smoking char

and the ashes of animals

I will kiss you at this spot

where I first lit the match

and you will tremble

in my arms 

 

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in anger, NaPoWriMo, poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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