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
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