Burn Poems - Poems about Burn

Poppies burn like love under the sun that births longing, Let me ask for forgiveness, to touch your face with light, To be your sunbeam, to be a halo on your delicate brow, To caress your skin with a sweet breeze, a zephyr that caresses the wheat, Let my smile seduce you, let longing flow over your waist. The evening...

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What does it mean to witness suffering and feel it burn inside you, not as gentle empathy, but as a deep-rooted and screaming indictment? There is a boy who carries cement as I carry metaphors — without question, without choice, without allowing himself the luxury of another option, only with a resignation sculpted in silence. He is not a...

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~Play With Fire Till your Fingers Burn~ 5/20/2025 Experience life to its full brink,so sad, to witness any human, being had! Just try to be...

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The sunset tides will wash me away Jaded, but I try And now I stand to hear my breathless breaths. Over the white noise, screaming out "Sunrise, sunset, can you wash away the rain?" My...

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Before the light could find my frame, A breath of blue became the air. I waited—not for hope or name— But for a silence I could bear. The self withdrew, then disappeared, No shelter left for soul to keep. All colors fell, as time grew smeared; Just blue remained—too vast, too deep. What burned was not a mortal flame, But thought encased in frost...

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I remember watching your sunrise, The way I tried to sit back and let it unfold. You swooped me off my feet and showed me the world. The tendrils of a swarm, Ricocheting warmth. Do you ever grow dim, Morning star?...

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...Have you ever seen true madness take full possession of a man? Gobayth’s dreams of coming home were now all well and truly damned. It’s said he screamed for half the night, so much that it damaged his throat, and it was not long after that he started slaying ‘settled’ folk. The first target was a merchant travelling with his concubine and his two slaves...

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...A jolt ran though the broken men, like wraiths they rose, streamed for the door, Gobayth waved them on until nobody remained anymore. They raced on towards the small hut where all of the pick-aces lay, some guards were starting to notice, running about every which way. Gobayth wished the poor men luck, but he did not follow their path, and instead ran to the...

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...After a bit her cries died down, everyone could see she was dead, a small head hung between her thighs, mother and son covered in red. He had seen so much callousness, but this he just couldn’t believe, it was after seeing this horror Gobayth decided to leave. Of course, it took some time to plan, in the day the watch was intense, men along...

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...Gobayth’s mind was nearly crushed, this was his life now, it appeared, and all sorts of depressing thoughts flooded his mind that first half-year. Was this what life was really like for most of the souls in this world? An endless, unpaid drudgery, with slashing whips always unfurled? Was this how ‘settled’ people lived? Is so, then why bother with life? How could those outside...

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...Finally Gobayth came to a devastated mountainside, the trees and soil stripped away, slaves cutting out blocks of great size. They led him to a wooden hut where several gold coins were exchanged, the mine owner said, “Bring him out, fit him for his own set of chains!” He was forced out into the pit, driven forward by several guards, who showered him with stinging...

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I’ve seen many look to the sky and to the gods earnestly plead, what sins have the committed that require so many to bleed? Why does Lord Diyal ride the lands, do things that make your stomach churn, his soldiers loot and pillage all… Why do they make your cities burn? I can tell you that it begins with a young man named Gobayth, a...

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For shining so bright, you burn out and die; for soaring too close to the sun, you fall to the hard earth below and crash: “Too high,” judge the gods; so, as lesson to us all, you're chastened for your lofty, prideful flight. Like Icarus,...

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I speak, you listen, but not the same, your voice is warm, but feels so tamed. Like every word is just a chore, like I’m someone you knew before. I text, you read, then let it die, no need to answer, no need to try. I call, you pick up, say you’re fine, but never ask what’s on my mind. I reach for...

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Once, the world was stitched in crayons; lemon yellows, ocean blues, skies that never ended and trees that could talk if you listened hard enough. I used to run with arms outstretched, believing wind could lift me, believing in magic found in cereal boxes, closets, the curve of a shadow. But now, the rollercoaster creaks where it used to roar. Books I once clutched to my chest gather dust on shelves too high to...

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