Forges burn, quicken flesh which passes through.
The cooling is the greater pain, those who
have lost it seek heat, a return
to some hint of passions burn.

Light matches which stutter, wink, fade.
Rub sticks which crack, rip hands, disappoint.
Their eyes frost over,
Lips grow numb –
For nothing warm will ever come.

They are wrapped in shawls, rocked in blankets.
Eyes fix backwards, then blink, then dip.
Resigned to hours as the waking dead –
Counting down the hours, freed upon the minute most men dread.




About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Poem, poetry, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

20 Responses to Afterburn

  1. Pingback: Winterized – A Golden Saturday Poetry Post « Lyrical Anarchy

  2. This is wonderful. I love it! ~Jen

    • Martin says:

      Thanks. How does it read to you – what is your interpretation?

      • To me, I take it as expectations of a certain emotional kind that did not get met. Like when a heart gets lost in the excitement of something new, but then, in time, admits it just wasn’t as it seemed, as hoped for. …that’s what I felt when I read it..

      • Martin says:

        Interesting. I love hearing how these read, to others. It’s always a fascinating surprise. I’d hate to write anything that was blatant, if that makes sense. Thanks for this.

      • And I love to read things that make me think. A good writer does that.. here, you chose brilliant& beautiful words to tell us a story but.. let us feel sosomething too. Its so great! I’m looking forward to reading more! Come visit me sometime! ~jen

      • Martin says:

        I did – interesting story, and I like your voice. I’ll dig in deeper, look forward to more.

      • Why thank you! Happy & honored to have you stop by Tryst! ~J

  3. rawencounterswithestella says:

    I like this!! Very much so! Great job!! 🙂

  4. Pingback: A Saturday Poetry Parade | Lyrical Anarchy

  5. Pingback: Poets Sing The Winter Blues | Lyrical Anarchy

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