Monday, June 6, 2011

Growing Smolder (poem)

The house has turned to a ghost,
throwing its echoes to any passerby.
It all buckled under when its fire was
uncontrollable -smashing and crashing
down in a harsh rage. Every single
shingle melted to the roof, creating
a smores like appearance. Exposed
wooden beams served as graham crackers
and the insulation sticks in between. A
sweet comparison to an ugly scene.

Little moths, like snowflakes,
flurried in the swirling night. They
mixed with the ash of the home,
it was hard to tell which could land
on your tongue or which would burn it.
The sun rose to tame the flames. A
permanent brick red glow is patterned
on the ground. It all fell down, like
ashes on the posies, as the mellow
treats baked in the oven for too long.

No comments:

Post a Comment