Drifting in the folds of a spark you come
as a splash of cold water
in my face. Appears, I underestimated,
how hot those feelings race.
Have I been walking on a path without alarm,
while the forest descends on me?
Do my toes point me to a smile,
peace can never see?
What is this that springs from every breath I take,
as a spark ignites a flame?
Why do I see it shaking hands,
in shades of red the same?
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
Drifting in the folds of a spark you come
as a splash of cold water
in my face. Appears, I underestimated,
how hot those feelings race.
Have I been walking on a path without alarm,
while the forest descends on me?
Do my toes point me to a smile,
peace can never see?
What is this that springs from every breath I take,
as a spark ignites a flame?
Why do I see it shaking hands,
in shades of red the same?
Copyright @09/15/18 - Neva Varga - Changefulstorm Poetry
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