memories

Exile

I crawled into the carcass
of your scavenged legacy
stitched a cocoon from the carrion
of false epithets bestowed
on your name.

sepia-brittle and crumbling I clung
pupating in a squall of anger
until I sliced my way out
a katana soul-drawn
from the scabbard of my heart
a ronin now
banished for freeing myself
from the collective.

I carry our memories
in the whetstone
that tempers blade
exquisitely fatal.

Advent Calendar Poem #3: Last Year’s Candles

Matchstick  struck 
smoulder  of smoke
 candle burning       brightly 
memories triggered by scents
of orange, cinnamon, pine
dance in rhythmic flame - 
and I lose myself 
         - willingly 
until the last wisp       of wax 
has burned away.

Thanks for reading day 3 of the advent calendar of poems. I hope your December is going well.

Let me know what you’re up to in the comments…

In the meantime, take it easy.

Paul