Poetry
Burnt
Maybe
it was the candle
She left burning in the night
Or the Christmas lights
Not plugged in quite right
But something that day
Made her house go up in flame
She's so ready to give
Anyone else the blame
Only when she looks
back upon it
During sleepless nights
Just how much she lost that evening
Oh, how the truth bites
fabric for clothing
she never finished sewing
Pictures in frames
Precious things that she held dear
Gone in flames
Countless notebooks, unfinished stories
Wedding invites from so long ago
Love letters, teddy bears
Burned into the snow
Jewelry and knickknacks
that
Meant nothing to anyone but her
Child's pictures drawn in crayon
Everything gone in a blur
High school yearbooks
Paintings into which she poured her soul
Thirty years of newspaper clippings
And now she's feeling empty, unwhole
But she's not thinking
about any of that
Because the thing that burns into her the most
Was that her husband and children
Died the next morning of third-degree burns
.~*~.
Dated April 6th, 2005.
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Adrienne Wolter. May 4th, 1990. 16. Taurus. Junior. Atheist.
Author. Poet. "Organized chaos." Cellist. Soprano. Slytherin.
Web designer. Blue belt.
<3 Severus Snape. Harry
Potter. Fan fiction. Writing. Monk. The Office. The War at Home.
Cats. Yorkshire pudding. Everclear. Maroon. Clothing. Karate.
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