Fire –
that old dry word
that sears the tongue
of he who spake it
burning his lips
and blackening his tears
but that plea for help
was too late.
The harsh-smelling flames
clawed at his body,
licked up his arm
as his hoarse voice shouted
for help.
But then he gave up;
And that fire leapt upon him
as the roof above caved in,
groaning,
the crossbeams squealing
in discomfort
and that night,
all they found
were remains
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly Ripples
PoetryButterfly ripples through water and wind fluttering petals, whispering wings. Words swing 'round trees carried in a breeze of butterfly ripples so do as you please. But don't taunt their song of water and wind: to it they belong and so they will sin...
