|
Sitting before the fireplace
On a cold dark night
With only flames for light
Her black eyes no longer shine
They look sad and exude
A sense of desperation
As she tosses page by page
Her verses on to the burning logs
The work of years of her writing
The fire devours them hungrily
As she watches blankly
And soon little black flakes
Begin to float around the room
First in small numbers, but
Then they multiply fast and
Fill the entire place causing
Her to choke on the finer
Particles settling on her person
She falls to the ground
Almost in a stupor unable
To breathe properly until
Fatigue takes over and the
Black flakes also settle down
Then she has a horrible dream
Satan is laughing hysterically
Having finally robbed her
Of her only personal treasure
Her poetry, the love of her life
Her raison d’être |
