Maria Justa Polotan

Rookie - 424 Points [justa335]


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,

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