#mt poems

[written-in-flames]

the eleventh hour

The clock strikes

eleven times.

The oceans churn

plastic jellyfish and dolphins

jumping between the waves.

A factory chimney pumps

clouds into the air

the dust sticking to our lungs

and hair.

The icebergs melt and forests burn

and snowfall covers a desert.

The trees all fall

the night grows cold

and wood burns in a house

A dirty river trickles down, while

voices scream about the Earth

yet the twelfth hours edges closer

and marks the seconds till our death

[angels-twice-descending]

The Morning Star

Falling.

Too close to the sun,

An Icarus,

Dreams too big and the sky too close,

Wings burning.

Feathers

Falling.

Screaming,

Not with fear, but freedom,

Melted wax dripping on his sun-kissed skin,

Chest burning,

Laughing,

The air in his hair,

As if soaring.

Joyful shouts while

Falling.

A Father's cry,

Daedalus's weary eye,

A cry for his lost son,

A cry for his fallen Icarus,

Falling

Like a Morning Star

-M.T.

[written-in-flames]

there's a legend in my family

that

if you want someone to call

you just have to think of them

i think about you every day

and yet

we haven't talked

in months

- spilled thoughts by m.t. about legends and loss