After the Fire
When the fire was over,
I walked through the ash with careful steps.
Smoke curled like ghosts that had nowhere to go.
The air was heavy with what used to be.
I found a single chair still standing.
Its shadow long, its meaning simple.
We build, we burn, we build again,
and still call it living.
The trees around me whispered their grief,
their voices brittle but unbroken.
Even in ruin, the world keeps breathing.
Even in ruin, there is rhythm left.
By dusk, small green shoots appeared.
The first defiance of despair.
I knelt, touched the soil, and felt its promise.
Not everything ends where it falls.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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No Word Comes Near Enough
The English language has its limits. I learned this when I became a student of the Bible and looked up the Greek and Hebrew definitions behind the Scriptures I loved. Some languages have so much more depth and power than the one I use to convey my thoughts. But, even so, I don't think any word could ever come close to describing this void and pain I am journeying through. I don't know how to swim through its murky waters.
By Shirley Belk4 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Deep, meaningful and beautifully expressed. Loved it, Marie.
You give one pause in reading this one. We should replant when able after these fires. Good job.