Poem: Changing Seasons

We scavenged in cindered circles  
and collected pieces of house flesh  
brass frames clutching fire eaten photographs,
glass and melted porcelain,
reclaimed ruins we never held close enough.   

We are warped clutter  
seizing and contorting from exposure to violent heat.
We are melted and molded
and twisted and turned
and trusted to a life we didn't understand.  
Our mistake was not believing in this hell we had been making.  

Soot and ash and embers  
orange and red and suffocating slow.

 
How could we not have known  
the season would change

and leave us to cherish madly


What was left of the love we gave  
inside of our burned down house.  

 

 

                                                                                                                                                       

 

                                                                                                                                                      Poem born from: a slow autumn burn