Thursday, January 14, 2010

Burn Scars

The glass shatters, covering my toes with a sprinkling of shards.
I cry – salty drippings mingling with the crystalline dregs.
It burns, puckering and curling the soft skin of my palm on my first two fingers.
The hospital lights shower me with intensity –
But I become dark.
A white line, wrinkled and imperfect, mars my hand,
A reminder of the power of heat.

A spark rumbles softly along her meadow.
She cries – the careless match shriveled in her hand.
The teething flames flicker and bite dried bits of vegetation.
It curls, turning into blackness –
A disease eating away the flesh of the land.
A black swath, crackling and imperfect, mars her land,
A reminder of the power of heat.

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