The Junction
Published in

The Junction

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



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Christina M. Ward

Freelance | health & wellness | cannabis & CBD | beauty | relationships | feat. in LA Weekly | OK! Mag | Village Voice | Men's Health | VEGAMOUR