Cinders Poems - Poems about Cinders

Cradled betwixt the crystal seas Where groweth the fabled thunder thistle trees Where holy winds blow lightning leaves Across oceans of undead thieves, Who seek to consume, and perhaps commune With those who seem to be immune To the suffering of mortality Behold the living remnants of humanity! Here where the plants flourish, and the living seek to nourish The lands they were given,...

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The cigarette sparks Though small were non-bargaining They turned cargoes into cinders Thick smoke Circling into the air Before the fire engine arrived While some flames still lingered Amongst smoking debris The last wall crumbled And hollow darkness occupied The spaces left Amidst the fire remains The smeared poles and pillars Some people started collecting any valuables In the miserable debris Before the police arrived Sad to say The...

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exhaling gentle winds breathing softly blowing across the deep blue ocean a whispering soul speaking through those eyes shining stars silently looking ore emotions embracing one dream you princess who bewitches feelings encircling deeply enchanting the heart leaving your glass footprints upon white cold snow warming winter delightfully intoxicating hypnotizing starts engulfing emotions lovingly encircles feelings tasting sweet surrender hair of the softest silk blushing enchantress captivating beauty cherry lips speak captivating birds charming words sings out in...

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Tendered traces of fleeting mist Wafting wisps fluttering into the abyss Flittering glitter that sparkles then is carried away by the wind Floating flakes that waffle then aimlessly descend Token tufts of fog that shroud then wantonly ascend Blowing grains of sand drifting in a listless direction  Puffs of smoke briefly inhaled then transforming into an ablation  Specks of dust swirling then falling...

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Cinders in my eye, looking at the sky, a tear running dry Cinders on the road, they dump another load, to help me in the snow Cinders on the ground, lying all around, high desert Oregon-bound Cinders in my nose, abrading all my clothes, the color of brick and rose Cinders in the air, suddenly aware, forest fire over...

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There they rested on rusting rails so regal yet so stark. An old steam engine and its caboose now sit silent in the park. Since I was on a casual stroll and had some time to squander, I sat upon a beckoning bench, its yesteryears to ponder. In my mind's eye I saw this Goliath racing down the rails, Spewing...

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