poem #2

(i know, i know: it's past midnight - but i wrote this much earlier in the evening, and i'm still awake, so this totally counts for friday)


1. Prelude

I cannot think of what a poem is
just now.
Is it a sunset or a sunrise?
Is it a day gone past, or just ahead?
What did he say,
what color were her eyes?
I cannot think of what a poem is, today,
I just cannot.

2. Sacrifice

The flames licked and flicked
around her waist.
Orange dawn was still a fresh taste in the air,
whetted with smoke and the birth of fire.
I would stay until I could only smell wet ash
and crisp flesh, and longer.
She was a martyr, and her eyes were blue.
She said it was the only thing to do-
she said that death is good
and as the wood began to catch
the man next to me, on my left,
yelled out: "Witch! Wiiiitch!"
And I held my breath.
I thought of the secrets I alone now kept.
I closed my eyes
and wept.

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