The forked tongues lick at my flesh
They lick me, teasing, hungry
I shiver despite the heat
I pull against the bonds that hold me
Freedom is beyond the choking grey cloud
My eyes water with unshed tears
Through moments of clarity I see the faces
And then they are swallowed by fog again
The tongues are hungrier
Licking with intensity
Playing with my clothes and hair
MOTHER, my mind screams
But I voice no words
The fog closes in
No more moments of clarity
The tongues finally enjoy their feast.
Silver DawnHawk's Website
Sorry I haven't posted for a while, I've been sewing my fingers off!!
Not a good month to NaNo, I've hardly written anything at all.
So here's a poem by someone else :-)
5 comments:
Great poem. Thanks for sharing. I like the imagry. Ever since finding your blog and learning your subject, I've had this image of a witch being burned at the stake in my mind. The licking flames. The swirling smoke. The feel of her bonds against her skin as she is consumed... there is something about such an act. It's very archetypal I think. Maybe because for each of us, we ourselves torture and burn at that stake what we simply cannot accept.
At least you are sewing!! post some photos!!!
Great poem. So what are you sewing your fingers off for? Sew them back on. LOL!
That a nice poem, you should get more exposure by sending quotes to the daily lit quote at bubblesmyhead.blogspot.com
Nice poem! Alright, niceties aside, it's now 2006! You are in F2K! Let's get this blog updated, okay?
Good luck there, and good luck here! :D
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