Doors On Fire
Being a recluse,
I have lost track of sun’s hues
and the flavor of meadows
in snow. Bronze doorknobs are cold,
frozen like my rusty, numb thoughts.
Must I remember
how they were slain? The wails come
to haunt those bleeding midnights,
when tears flooded a room
opening doors with shots of fire.
From Amelie Mara
Door To A Wayra Contest
Jul 18, 2014
Copyright © amelie mara | Year Posted 2014
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment