Before me the fire dances,
The house slowly burns before me.
The sirens wail in the distance,
The screams of dying people pierce the night.
The smell of the gas I used fills the air,
The taste of the saline sea mixes with the fumes.
I lick the blood from my split lip
As salty tears run down my cheeks.
The muffled voices approach,
But I stand firm, admiring my work.
The flames that lick at my skin warm me.
Why had I started the fire?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Portfolio
PoetryPoetry: the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts. This book is a collection of my poetry for my creative writing class, that I shared to you all. Enjoy.
