The autumn pages of dead wood.

The autumn pages of dead wood.

A Poem by andrew mitchell

A fiery memory prodded,
stirs a seasoned past,
her naked flame
once again aroused
by a forgotten time gone.
In the event,
her flickering will
succumb to tomorrow,
she sighs, only to be
remembered as
charcoal and ash.

© 2020 andrew mitchell


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Added on May 17, 2020
Last Updated on May 17, 2020

Author

andrew mitchell
andrew mitchell

adelaide, Australia



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Strindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..