This and this no more will change
to a wound no more, blood no more trailing across as though mocking life, ebbing out fresh and clean, to chasten said mishap. It's another way of saying you were right to know it was sharp, this part of life that revolves around fast fires, scalding wood, daring to burn the conscience and fight it as before. Now to arms, to water flowing up rafters, jettison life out widows, doors, escaping its wrath to below, scaling down skyscrapers of steel, slippery to the touch, sliding to dare again of death. Yet it survives, the mind of healing, barely the wind laps at frozen flames dancing up scaffolds, frames meant for quiet nights, comforting, nursing young lives untouched by death. © 2015 Larry Ingram
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Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
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