The Boy With The Flaming HandsA Poem by Deron AlexisThe Boy
With The Flaming Hands You can
hardly see his face behind the
smoke and ashes. It’s why
they identify him by all
the carnage he causes, the destruction
in his wake and the
scent of seared flesh.
You can
barely hear his voice above the
sound of crackling. Though he
hardly speaks anymore, mostly screams
in anguish. “I didn’t
mean to burn them to dust! I just
wanted to hold her hand.” Or “I just
wanted to pick a rose.” and a
million more excuses that we
don’t want to hear. So now
he keeps his hands in his pockets behind his
back if he’s alone.
And the
fire burned to his heart through
the sulphur in his veins. And the
heart itself burned out and became
hollow and nought but ash. An empty
heart longing to be filled, so that
every heartbeat echoes in
his frame.
We barely
see him these days, that burning
hapless soul. Maybe he’s
gone for good. But we
don’t miss him not in the least, for all
our pride is made of wood.
Wherever
he is now, he’s
waiting for a rainfall to
douse and sooth the burning, to wash
away his scowl . Yet he
knows about the numbness that
comes when sorrows pass and
that he’ll set his hands ablaze
for any
feeling that would last. © 2014 Deron AlexisFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorDeron AlexisCunupia village, Caroni, Trinidad and TobagoAboutBeen gone from writers cafe a while. Dunno if im back for good. Im hoping im not as much of a little s**t as my 16 year old self was. Lets see how this goes i guess more..Writing
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