A Poem by Irma Chavez

Snap and panting; breathing fire,

Pleasure of the constant pure spread red,

Once black feather reached its perfect shade. 

And even then dead memories wake,

To trouble any and all tranquility" resilience.

Seeking words, apologies, demands, commands,

Ignorant of blank purged slate to justly bring life back…

But nothing surges reptilian caves except

Informed reminders, excruciating tourniquets

Of late blues, later winter nights,

Of running from the sun’s 

Misguiding glances after traveled far smiles.

May’s joy’ll regain rest in sacks of grain,

Maybe beyond the deep green sea all return at last

To death’s sweet scent of weeds…

© 2013 Irma Chavez

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Author's Note

Irma Chavez

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A splendid read and write on purging. Good wording and imagery...:)

Posted 8 Years Ago

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Added on July 5, 2013
Last Updated on July 5, 2013