In the name of the father

They set fire to the paper,
Singeing black,
The death of his life,
Falling
Falling.
 
Flames licked the air,
No longer he breathes,
Too late.
 
Paper curls
In the wind.
 
Bricks and steel
Never separated.
That one last draw,
Got between the walls.
 
The ash melted
On the earth,
A slight tinge to the grass.
He was here.


Jessica Maxwell-Muller

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