The Quiet Fire

The Quiet Fire

A Poem by p lawrence

Lost in the inferno.

Sirens fill the empty canyons, heralds of a deadly spring,
while the images repeat and repeat and repeat across the screen.
Masked faces telling desperate stories of flooded hallways
and gasping hours, of fear, exhaustion, and despair,
of knocks on nursing home windows, of face-time deaths,
and worse, the prospect of triage roulette.

But outside, many fall silently, alone, as they lived,
remembered only by a neighbor’s tardy knock,
or atop the sidewalk grate, as they lived, and have now passed,
quietly, still forgotten, untallied in the daily count, to fill the trenches
of potter’s field that beckon the unclaimed, to be bagged and sheathed
and to soldier in neat rows, uncounted once last time.

© 2020 p lawrence

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Beautiful. The sounds I hear: sirens and knocks. The images of exhaustion and isolation. Spring should not be deadly, but it is. Grim and sad. Again, I appreciate your brevity. Much expressed with select words.

Posted 9 Months Ago

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1 Review
Added on April 11, 2020
Last Updated on April 11, 2020
Tags: new york city, pandemic, homeless, death, forgotten


p lawrence
p lawrence


Thanks for stopping by. I live just outside of New York City where I write short stories, flash fiction and occasional prose poetry. I've been fortunate to have both my short fiction and prose poetry .. more..

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A Poem by p lawrence