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Ashes

The clock stopped ticking an hour ago
The breeze has seized
All that is left is the wait
Everything around me seems to wither
A slow heartbeat pounding is all I hear
All that is left is the wait
My miserable end; inevitable
A drumming rush passes through me
Faster my heartbeat is pounding
The flames from afar
Raise the skin from my body
All that is left

Submitted: Saturday, May 28, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, May 31, 2011


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  • Brian Purdy (2/27/2012 12:07:00 AM)

    You put me there. You put me right there at the nerve-endings. You put me - as directly as words can do - directly in touch with how it feels to be you, feeling as you did in the moments this poem has given form. You have a powerful gift with words. Whether you will, or not, you have a calling. I wish you strength, passion and good health to use it well. I salute you. - Bep.

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