Lost in the Fire

used my spirit as kindling

I built a campfire over me, used my spirit as kindling,

added some branches,

layered log after log, log-cabin style,

lit it with a match.

The wood burnt,

things shifted after being singed to dark and lifeless hues.

More branches,

matter changed,

chemical reaction,

all the same.

I’m now trying to find the ashes of myself at the bottom.


Photo by takenbytablo from Pexels

Adrift

and unmoored

A sailboat adrift

far out

and not enough fuel for the motor

to ever power its way back to shore.

What I’m saying is you can call me unmoored.

Call me lost.

Call me unreachable

because when you call, I may not pick up the phone–

too far from civilization

for the towers to reach.

I’m busy trying to find a space to call my own.

Continue reading “Adrift”

L’Hiver de la tristesse

perhaps it is the way that life itself seems to disappear

I am a summertime poet;

I cannot wax lyrical about the bare branches

or frosty earth.

Perhaps it is the fact that the blood,

so warm as it rushes through my core

turns oh so frigid by the time it reaches my fingertips.

Continue reading “L’Hiver de la tristesse”

I Fell in Love with a Poet

his limericks, like the sweetest perfume
that could fill the air in every room

The verses he once scribbled carelessly
became a type of medicine to me,
his limericks, like the sweetest perfume
that could fill the air in every room,
his gorgeous, timeless, melodious rhymes
just as flavorful as basil or thyme.

He did not know me, nor did I know him,
but I ventured to write upon a whim
a commendation for twisting my favorite hymn,
and giving it a tone so morbid and grim.

A “thanks” was then his meager reply
which caused a teardrop to leave my eye.
I began to think and gave a sigh
realizing sad and ashamed that I

did this to myself again. That poor man
knew not that my love rested in his hand;
he could only know what I had said,
not the million thoughts still in my head.
It was but my own imagined tryst–
a love between us would never exist.

Fake relationship of my own making–
I did no giving, only taking.
Now, once again, alone, I’m quaking,
trying to mend a heart that’s breaking.


Shared with Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for their Sunday Writing Prompt of “Secret Admirer” because it fits the theme so perfectly!