Vengeful fire you invoke,
the blades reaching for the sky.
Your hands still smell of smoke.
They whispered you were a joke.
sparks start to fly;
vengeful fire you invoke.
As they began to choke
the trees echoed their cries.
Your hands still smell of smoke.
In the fuel of their words do they soak,
you waiting for the right time:
Vengeful fire you invoke.
The smog rolls in generous cloaks,
as the infernos are lit from your eyes;
your hands still smell of smoke.
All of them ash in a masterstroke,
let no one further lie:
vengeful fire you invoke.
Your hands still smell of smoke.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoezjaPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
