The Crucible Chamber
A poem
My footprints disappearing
beneath weary bed of green.
The plump moon hiding
behind a cigarette veil.
Red rose between shaky fingers
succumbs with bending spine
browning, wrinkling from within.
Petals stolen by desolate wind
falling with ash until forgotten.
And I would go to you
but this barren night mocks
the crucible chamber,
my broken womb