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Mol
Poems
Apr 2020
spark
A flick of flint creates a flame
which dances still upon your face.
'Til wind pours in and fills this place
and fires quench leaving no trace.
You click again with furrowed brows
and silence then - you're counting down.
The orange embers as you inhale,
Your fingers tremble and shadows pale.
Grey ashes fall, each taking turn
Smoke climbs the wall as we both burn.
I catch a glance of steady eyes
lost in a trance of midnight skies.
I turn to watch but see no stars
Just sky - pitch black and clouds of tar.
- Mollie Keech
Written by
Mol
19/F/Ireland
(19/F/Ireland)
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138
ryn
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Paul Horne
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Thomas W Case
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Frances E McClelland
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