Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Dead Fire


Dead Fire
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Tonight, I shall set myself free.
I want to see some spurts of blood
from my hands so what would come
is a fine sculpture of breathing veins.

Life is not all wars, ceasefire birthed
as Mother Teresa saved lives
of children. Peace in the camps.
Nights in dead fire. My nights are

dead fires. Only shadows creep
after sleep steals and kills my time.
I am still seeking how I
could love, how I could divulge

loves greatness by slaying pins
of hate. We couldn't hate so much
but only for a time. Like death, all
ends up in death except love. Who

would want to stop breathing with
anger? No one. GOD created
us part of Himself. I know there
will be another chance. I wouldn't

take that other chance. Because
my nights are buried, as they are
peaceful and deeply carved in the
roots. The mountains dropp in my

agonies, no one will ever catch, except
He who Created life. Love comes sharp
but sacred like the wind, like night,
like day; like storm and calm. It is

fleeting and cold like the rain. It is
in many ways so incomplete -

Dead fires, dead nights, dead stars.
Rain, water, wet skies. Love
comes in mist, in tears of hope,
at dawn, in bloom, and in - darkness

when there is nothing but a flame
and naked nights in an embrace
of a full moon. Love comes so
beautiful after wars, when everyone

can drink freely, when there
is peace and I am nothing
but dust, and chipping coals
begging the skies.

rosalinda flores martinez; repost 9.2011
poemhunter.com
iwrotefiction

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