Herculean Reflections by H.M StevensA 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 © 2025 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. |
|