Call For Help

I’ll make it tall

Enough to merge with cloud;

The bonfire’s billowing plume.

 

It soaks into cloth and flesh,

Sends flakes of fine carbon

Skyward searching for a face

To land on.

 

Would that one finds yours,

Ash marking you softly

in gray-white

Smudges on your forehead

 

Because you were looking up

And saw my message. I hope

To see your reply borne on the wind

‘Ere the sky fades and another night

Consumes the wood and fire and smoke

And vanishes hope

Of rescue.

 

_______________________________________________________________________

I’ve always thought that it is better to put your work out there and release it (and yourself) from the endless cycle of revision and second-guessing. This poem is one such piece that I finally decided to just let go of and see where it went. Maybe the wind will take it somewhere unexpected.

 

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