We sing in ash,
We sing in smoke,
our faces black
our lungs choked.
We played in the fire,
unaware of flames, unaware of ourselves
caught in the crossfire
We are not phoenixes,
reborn of ash,
instead we are ghosts,
prisoners of the past
We guard the phoenix,
ever so bright,
and try to forget
what happened that night
YOU ARE READING
Naive
PoesiaWORDS WERE THE LIFEBLOOD OF POETRY, AND I REMAINED SILENT. A collection of poetry. For the people who don't feel at home in their own skin, for the poets, for the people who are depressed, for the people who aren't depressed, for the people with wo...
