My Fire

Mone D. Moore

 

Its smoke eats away at my dreams

And takes the form of what I’ve buried deep.

The flames burn holes into the curtain of my

                        memory.

I need to face it.

I need to shove my hands into it

And engulf myself in

                       remembering.

But how can I even begin

To find myself among my

                       ashes?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *