A Book of Ashes
In the book of ashes
In the words of offerings, burnt
They are hard bright, it blares white
Like the stars gleaming cold, rare
Nights passes as the gods of old,
Stand in silence, stare
In the book of ashes
There are the marks of man burnt lashes
Across Adams back, the martyr
Scattered as the dust, fine grains of ash
Remains suspended in the blast, turn
To carbon at last
So it is written
In the book of ash
Copyright © Poet Tellaferro | Year Posted 2022
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