The fire burns around me
The snow does nothing to put it out
It licks at my feet, the flames slowly burning up my legs
For so long, my determination staved it off.
But no more.
The fire reaches my waist.
I am laid to waste.
I choke on tears that sizzle in the heat, boiling on my face
The flames reach my heart, and it falls to ashes at my feet.
And the snow is not snow
It is ashes, from fire harnessed by others
They are not in pain from fires that are their own.
The ashes settle in my hair
Framing my head like a crown
Woven not of thorns but of pure hatred
Made for me, by me, of me.
The flames reach my head and I am consumed
Through them, as I fade, I hear smiles and see laughter.
Or do I feel them, the music of happiness?
Or taste them, the sugar of having pleased others?
And they are not harsh or demeaning
They are gleeful
And I have done good by leaving.
And I am ashes.
And I am snow.
Thank the God that shall not receive me
That you will never see that.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryOccasionally, I write a poem that I'm actually not entirely ashamed of. I will post when I write them. I don't delete any poems, so there are definitely some awful ones from when I had lower standards. I suppose that means I've gotten better.
