the empty pyre, built from lumbar
torn down from my own backyard.
built for me, or built for my family
by me
built from the hate,
from years of hiding
'just one more,' they'd say
as splinters of glass
shattered,
thrown from my tiny hands
now older, not wiser
i cower before god
this pyre is for me, isnt it?
YOU ARE READING
Abridged
PoetryA poetry collection dedicated to the lessons bloomed from the face of adversity.
