Fire and blossom

Yesterday I wrote a lot of twitter poems, each one for a different prompt, but all seemed to have a common theme. These are the darker one.

smoke

Through the haze,

mist,

drizzle,

you walk,

I see you melting into distance

like smoke from a dead fire.

 

After the fire

only black ash

smears its greasy trails

on the ground,

and a pain aches

like the burned hole

where my heart was.

 

Winds lash tender blossom,

rain tears sweet petals,

and I weep for the beauty lost

when the river howls

beneath dark spring clouds.

 

I have no memory

of another time

before the dark,

perhaps hidden in apple blossom,

waiting to unfold,

perhaps in the green mists

of another spring.

 

All is change,

the past slipped away

like fallen cherry blossom,

fragile memories,

out of reach

of your destructive fingers.

 

Is it so monstrous, the deluge

that washes away the blossom,

when in its place,

a million bright new leaves

are softly unfurling?

 

 

320px-A_gorgeous_Degas_painting_in_Buenos_Aires

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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.

26 thoughts on “Fire and blossom”

  1. These do seem to form a set! Very reflective of the current grey, when spring is here? I am minded to quote Eliot: April is the cruelest month (although not there yet), it’s a time for new life, but nothing really changes. This sounds more pessimistic than I meant it to!

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