Little Footsteps
A poem **(TW: grief!!)**
Sweetly, agony,
Comes into my sleep,
Bleeding me until
There's something real to me.
Living 'til another day
Steals what's left of me.
Silent, thieving,
Creeping little footsteps...
I have burned like a phoenix
To be reborn for you,
And I would cry every day
If what's standing here is true.
Forgive my ears, they didn't hear,
My arms still want for you.
My love, my son,
Set amongst the roses,
Ashes being corroded...
This can't be happening!
Sweetly sweeping through the trees
Comes a holy beckoning call:
Silent, thieving,
Creeping little footsteps,
Taking my blessing home.
My love, my dove,
Laid beneath the roses...
Sweetly, agony,
Come into my sleep.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Willow Rakiah Creager and writers in Poets and other communities.
Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.