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Literature Text
I hold the ember in the cup of my hands
the uselessly toiling fingers are- Kindling.
No longer able to beat out
rhythms on an unyielding earth-
I hear the crackle of the fire
consuming my bones.
Keep the children warm,
feed them my ashes.
the uselessly toiling fingers are- Kindling.
No longer able to beat out
rhythms on an unyielding earth-
I hear the crackle of the fire
consuming my bones.
Keep the children warm,
feed them my ashes.
I love writing. I never have forgotten it.
© 2013 - 2024 TasLDaeD
Comments5
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Well, you certainly have a knack for it.