Lone Flame in the Rain
A poem on trauma-induced solitude and those that try to help
Throw me into the ground surrounded by fallen snow.
Lay my body out to rest.
How much longer until we grow old?
How much time do we have left?
The hollow in the burning flame
Lets the fire engulf me
And shields me from the pouring rain,
Pattering against the solitude.
Burns- the third degree kind-
Streak the skin
And water fills the lungs
But makes the façade feel light.
So what kind of choice is the one I have to make?
The kind that has no options.
Scorched skin is harder to heal than it is to cut;
Water is harder to drink than to drown in.
So do I bleed and drown in the blood
Or do I drink the sea dry and attempt to swim?
Maybe I just watch the moon walk the moonlit path
Over and over, until it stops moving;
Maybe I just lay in the snow until it warms me.
Hi, if you enjoyed this piece feel free follow and subscribe to my account, s-p-sacker, (to receive an email whenever I publish) and check out some of my other works. Some with similar themes include:
It was the way they said it( https://medium.com/new-writers-welcome/it-was-the-way-they-said-it-79045cdc6a),
The Moon at Sunrise (Letter 4)( https://medium.com/illumination/every-night-582cbd591b4a)
Subdomain: s-p-sacker.medium.com
:)
