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Herculean Reflections

by H.M Stevens

A gasoline explosion sounds

And red dancers,
parade throughout my childhood house,

Up the stairs of my downtrodden youth,
violet memories billow into smoke clouds,

images, that fumigate my dark skied mind
as nightmares

Flames roar,
devouring a room
we once shared
in two sets of ten*

Beyond an orange glow
Out of a scolding circus hoop,

Angled 45 degress North

towards my eye
towards the match

I flinch, caught
in stillborne air

With a blaze, reflecting through my pale blue eyes.

12/08/2003

Posted on 12/08/2003
Copyright © 2024 H.M Stevens

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Bouillet on 12/10/03 at 10:34 PM

Now you see what you get when you play with matches. Brilliant and startling images that dance through the verse and rest in the reader's mind.

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