i never thought about the hands
that bled to write the words
before my match erased them
i never considered the faces
the quiet ache of their lives
soft prayers pressed into ink
the trembling wrists that dared
to carve truth into brittle paper
my fire stole their whispers
danced on the backs of dreams
it wasn’t flames i held then
it was every untold memory
who am i to mute voices
to decide what light deserves
i burned them thinking of silence
but found myself in the smoke
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: May 19th, 2025 11:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy, Eugene S., MinaH, Damaso
Offline)
Comments3
Some great lines in this poem. (soft prayers pressed into ink, to carve truth into brittle paper) Very nice and a fave
Oh wow! So many meanings and nuances for this poem. I can think of book burnings, letting go, human disregard, etc. etc. A favorite for sure!!
Thank You Eugene for sharing your feedback on my work
With the way the world is going with banning certain books and even altering their words, this poem is all too painfully honest
Thank You Mina I appreciate your feedback and I agree
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