SLOW BURN

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SLOW BURN

A cigarette dropped and the forest burns,
i take my turn burning with the trees,
smoking with the grass where air cant relieve
water can't stamp out the burn
it destroys and eats away at my resolve
fuel its taken away from everything
and so it goes, me alone left to ash
napalm spread by your hands
your finger tips scorch my body it turns
roll and rocks, seeking escape not to be
found be me when your memory
returns to set ablaze, start again to
take away and leave a beautiful place,
bent and blackened, smoldering and
inhabitable.

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

Bornwarrior’s Poems (3)

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SLOW BURN 0
The Bear Dance 1
Away from love 0

Bornwarrior’s Friends (1)