This was inspired by an interesting painting and research on the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. If you know the context of that event it gives more depth to the piece.
. . .
Faces, lost.
All a mirage
everything is fading
a house, a story,
must remember the faces.
The building, the bushes,
it's his fault.
To jump or burn -
is it even a question?
All around me the faces,
ascending -
we always prayed for heaven but they've trapped us in hell.
Oh God - please.
Everything is melting now.
I don't want to go but it would be so easy.
I teeter on the edge of the windowsill and my consciousness.
One breath, one step, one life.
They don't want me to make it, the lost faces glowing below
But those above urge me on.
Bodies to break the fall,
Such a heartless but necessary pondering.
My face is melting blocks of color
and tears run red as soon turns to ash.
Their voices call to me -
whispering.
I want to make encouragements but all I can hear is their smoke in my ear.
Bells ringing - time to go back to my work.
Why am I outside ?
The day is almost over and then I'll be able to go home to my work -
always work.
If only I had a break.
I'm so tired.
The scent thickens the air
like the old wood stove I always was in charge of stocking.
"Just one more minute Papa.
I'm so drowsy."
Rags all around,
the warmth consumes my dress.
I'm always working -
all I need is rest.
"Just one more minute."
In the back of my mind the bells keep ringing
but closer now are the angels singing.
Everyone's waiting for me.
The window fades
and warmth and pain are the same.
I've worked my whole life and I'm tired of working.
My skin sinks into smoke and dress,
and I rose to join the featureless faces.
The time for work is finally over.
YOU ARE READING
Up Too Late
Poetry//Hopefully// my best poetry, random stuff from times I can't sleep and need to leave my mess of a mind
