Ashes and grey waters
Heavy clouds and thunderstorms
Fear that eats away the remnants of a fragile sparrow called h o p e
And liquid glass that cascade to the ground
And oftentimes, only drip slowly
In soft, nearly inaudible drips
Those drips that echo the tears of the heavens
Though clear skies (eyes)
They're dead
In the back of the recesses of her crumbling mind
Or what is left of it (ashes)
There is a black fire
And it burns away her heart
Ignites and feeds what is called deadly f e a r.
YOU ARE READING
kāi
PoetryThoughts spared for the ones who love and hurt and smile and believe at the same time. © fourthrose 2015 | AL
