Thursday, July 16, 2015

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.
 
 

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