When The House Burns Down

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

There were no flowers in her hand,

and that was not the wind trembling.

Tears have no cause to understand

when a child starts disassembling.

Fingers linger upon the skin

in stains of forget-me-not blue.

With skin so pale and body thin,

she gathered her strength and she flew.

 

She chased her dreams and watched them die.

No more a child, she stood alone.

Bright stars came falling from the sky

in a room made of earth and stone.

She travelled once to see the house,

a white ghost in a dusty shroud

whose finer days no hope can rouse.

The heart spills open like a cloud.

 

The past is tossed upon a wave,

uncovered with its twisted roots,

cast like a line from out the grave

with its rotten and bitter fruits.

Shadows portend a storm within.

Lightning strikes on the edge of town.

She is there when the flames begin,

and she smiles when the house burns down.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Andra Dare]

I would like to review this poem, but I'm speechless. Too close to the bone. Beautiful.

[FGFRANKLIN]

This reads like an emotional tattoo over a scarred and broken childhood. Who knows what troubling memories the burning house holds? But now, reduced to ash the burning elicits a smile...of relief, of vengeance, of reckoning? It harbors visions of the country song Let Freedom Ring by Martina McBride. An excellent read. I enjoyed.

[Neville]

My word my fine literary friend, you have such a way with what are essentially the tools of a poet .. I am so glad you found me, for now, I feel compelled to follow the ink you will undoubtedly now spill .. N

[M]

A house full of bad memories without a doubt, for why else would the burning of a home elicit smiles and glee? There was obviously trauma within those walls and their burning down puts an end to the existence of the trauma and from the ashes rise freedom. Sometimes the physical destruction of something can be the first step to healing. Whatever no longer exists can no longer cause hurt. Painful memories become the only thing that exists thereafter. A well penned poem on pains of the past.

[Lisasview]

Good morning,
I am so moved reading your poem. Pain is such a terrible thing. Learning to deal with it can be difficult. Hopefully as we get older (and I am older) we can relax more and make better choices. If we have the chance to help others around us we should step forward.
I love your strong image.
I wrote a poem about lost innocence... I think you might enjoy it. The title is called Innocence..
Lisa, now in Spain

[willweb]

I can feel the pain, the shadows of the past( a recurring theme lately) and the need to destroy all that it it held. Burning down the house, returning those memories, those feelings, the fear, the ...Your poetry lives, it moves, it touches...it is heartbreaking to think that...
It's beautiful my friend.

Oh, I'm first on this one.: )

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you. I reflect on a lot of things as I get older so I guess it's natural to have the recurring theme. Honestly, if I can help someone who is younger, who is going through the same, I hope my words can help heal them along the way. I had no family to turn to so poetry was my dearest friend.