Going on

It sparks,
like the last thing you see,
a simple wind
that changes the pace
while this fire
burns out the windows.
These ashes fall like snowflakes.
The burning woods creation
that makes no mistakes
when the cinders glow
for us all to see.
It’s why we shake the roof-tops,
breaking apart the walls
where our windows used to be,
like those empty looks
from a face that used to smile.
That blank face,
a stale thought on the walls
where what we contribute
is only half of how we fell.
I’m missed
like the challenge,
the song going in my head
when only the chorus
gets remembered.
In this broken view
someone’s standing in the way,
in the street
where the cars run out of gas
and take their last breath
before dying by the sidewalk.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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