Kindling Poem by Maria Justa Polotan
Kindling
I burned them today, your letters to me,
I placed them in a pile in the garden
And set them a-flame - with one tiny match.
They burned quickly, paper white to cinder.
The smoke climbed, a sinuous path of grey,
As teased by a gentle breeze, it twisted,
Graceful yet mocking, full of acrid charm,
Like a cup of unwanted memories.
And when the fire died, I began to cry,
Perhaps there were ashes blown by the wind.
Yeah.. I felt like being that flame and wachin it aside.. beautifull!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/20/2024 11:29:30 AM # 1.0.0.1119
An ending so you can start anew x loved it, I stood there in the smoke and ash and put my hand on your shoulder in support of a strong woman. Loved it x
Tears are sometimes seen as a sign of weakness, maybe so, but I find that they cleanse one's soul so that one can start over again. Thank you for the lovely comment.