Gone
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
A smouldering in the core of ribcage bones
Is what his heart is causing. Blood does not
Allow an outbreak, flames of red. The zones
Of marrow in his ribs burn, flameless, hot,
But yet are unconsumed by flaring fires
Like Moses’ burning bush, or sacrifice
And wood and altar of Elijah. Choirs
Of coals are smoking as with incense twice
The heat of uncaged lust. A pent up blaze
Is raging in his chest in places where
The soul is struggling. Far too long delays
Have stoked low flames against a tight despair.
..His hope is sorrow and despair. Regret
….And memory forbid him to forget.
~ Phillip Whidden