Ann Foster Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

Black Fire

Black Fire

My favorite pen quit writing. 
The ink had run dry. 
My poem was left… with out stanza. 
My life story without end!

I pulled the lighter, 
from my purse. 
My hand; shaking badly, 
I looked around to make sure, 
no one watched, 
or cared…
Then…
I sizzled the tip…
gently.

Ah…
in death…
the last moments written…
The body left empty, 
the heart stopped, 
and the spirit lifted.

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Niyna Desangre February 4, 2021 at 3:57 AM A great bright respect of your favorite things. I always given them a moment of thought of how well they served me. Those little twinkles in time mean a lot somewhere! When it's my wee bitty time I hope someone say, she served us well! Thanks for shining light that direction otherwise, most wouldn't have known it was there.