Soot

I wrote this short poem this morning when I saw the photo prompt for #poetryinmotion. It fits the Daily Post prompt too: simplicity.

Photo©Ainhoa91

1024px-Burning_paper.jpg

So simple, I thought,

to be rid of you,

as if burning a photo

could obliterate the past,

send it curling,

a pearl grey thread of misery,

into the faultless blue.

But the trace remains,

soot-black on my fingertips,

staining all that I touch.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “Soot”

  1. As I walk toward home I can smell the burning leaves.

    The chill in the air brings a promise of winter.

    The ashes that remain are worked into the soil of our garden,

    Promising us an abundance of fresh vegetables in the spring and summer.

    As I enter my home there is a fire on the stove, and the oven is on.

    I can smell the home made vegetable soup, and the scent of bread from the oven.

    I tell my mom I am starving, she gives me a small bowl of soup it contains; carrots, green

    beans, corn, tomatoes, potatoes, lima beans, peas, parsley and other spices.

    As I sit there eating my soup I think, all this from burning leaves and ashes.

    Loved your poem, it gave me inspiration. :o)

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