the light burning the hope in my hands.
Flesh on fire.
So many ashes, more than I understand.
Tears on my hands
turning my carbon heartache to paste.
refuses to purge a life racing haste.
Damn you, bitter tears,
may you burn for all eternity
Wiping my eyes
to dry the self-imposed rain.
Wiping my hands
I stand ready until the sun rises again.
bursts forth as ash fertilizes the ground.
I walk again—and I WILL make a sound.
©March 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne