Leria Hawkins

Rookie - 313 Points (39 forever / Sweet Carolina)


He is my voice
My beautiful stolen whispers
And I cannot brush aside the wind
That carries him to my door

He speaks with the lips of ashes
Cool and crumbling, soft as snowflakes
He speaks of the fire he once was
The flame that he longs to be

He is a tempest
A hard blowing, snow throwing fury
Assaulting my mind with possibilities
Raining glass into my eyes

He is a drumbeat
A constant droning in my breast
He is a dagger piercing my flesh
Taking my breath, spelling my death

He is an empty journal
Whispering my secrets to the dark
He snickers like a naughty child
He is ink bleeding from my soul

He is a match, a half smoked cigarette
Burning down my house
He hides behind steel curtains
To watch me burn…

Submitted: Tuesday, June 04, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, June 04, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Date: June 3,2013

Copyright © 2013 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved

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