The Ruins
14 December, 2009
Author: Puppet
Look for her in the fire;
Her red dress burnt,
Her hair charred.
She screams and cries,
But her last gasp was as hungry
As a baby's first breath.
Bright and swift she'll haunt you.
From the burnt floor,
A shadow of her face will stare.
Glowing wood, her playthings.
Soot and ash, her tears.
She cannot follow into water.
She cannot follow into sun.
She knows only smoke.
She knows only one age.
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Colin (69.157.1.161) -- Monday, December 14 2009, 08:26 pm absolutely fantastic - this is pure poetry for the mind and the senses - a captivating read - a cinematic moment for the imagination. Brilliant-and yes now I can only sleep with the lights on! |
| Puppet (67.188.32.153) -- Monday, December 14 2009, 09:14 pm oh no, sorry about that. But thanks :) |
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