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What is on my mind...Poems
I write poems for the hell of it. Observe... Quotes are in them too. Whatever I write may not be a poem but who cares.
A tired, dying fire
A tired, dying fire.
Whittled passion
Shrinking light.
Fear creeps in during the night.

Wood burned up,
wind blows hard.
The cold creeps closer.

Dancing tired fire.
Shrinking Light.
Fear creeps in during the night.

Baby fires,
Little sparks.
None of which want to huddle up.
They all die one by one.
Sharing defeat individually.

Dancing little sparks.
No warmth for us? Harsh
You danced for us, and broke apart, but now we have
No light for us? What a farce

Dead red charred remains.
What are we to do, who to blame?
The tired, dying fire...

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