The Burning...
I crouch here
in the thistles -
rest my back
on a trunk -
try to blink out
to blackness -
that ever lingers -
and lurks ....
The fire -
still spitting
and crackling -
scorches and burns
my flesh -
and though I brush
off the embers -
it keeps on spitting -
it's breath...
Joy Weare,
19th October, 2009.
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