Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

your turn to burn 

 

the phoenix

has risen

i will burn that

frost

until she is nothing

but water

pouring on the ground

like a waterfall

you cannot stop me

my passion and my light

burns too bright

i always strove to be kind,

but you just threw

it in my face;

so i will cut your diamond until she

is so shattered she cannot

be put back together

simply to destroy you because you

are no white knight just a

black knave—

you told me once i don't have a temper

see it now?

it sits in every summer sunset

for i am summer born,

and i burn with every feather of immortality

you will never destroy me;

i rose from the chaos

you tried to drown me in now it's your 

turn to burn.

 

summer's child 

 

you won't be strong enough

to rise from your

ashes

because weak men

can never handle strong women

i am the flames

of the phoenix

never dying,

but you still attempted to drown me

in your winter;

she's not strong enough for i've fashioned

my eyes into diamonds

i will cut through 

the glass of your soul—

i am a king

there is no need for this broken crown

you've given me

it can now be hers

for i am a child of summer but i do not belong

to you,

scott,

you belong to me and you will see my fury

play witness to the anguish you laid

into me.

jean vs. emma 

 

you were wrong to dismiss 

my warning

you should fear me

my temper burns bright like my passion

i will cull your dreams on the edge

of my feathers

i am the phoenix,

but still you stand without falter;

i don't think you understand

who i am—

i am not the fragile flower you left smashed

to bits

i have risen from those ashes

because i was always stronger than you,

and stronger than you ever

gave me credit for;

i know i shouldn't look back because that's

how orpheus lost eurydice

but i don't think i would mind leaving

you behind—

after all the lies and treachery 

i want them to take you from me,

even still i want nothing more to destroy your frost

until it is winter no more and you never know

the kindness of blue or brown or even green eyes 

only the agony of black holes devoid of 

the kindness of spring or summer or autumn

an endless winter without frost.