Poem by YASMINE BITAR

A match of a perfect scale, a match to an open fire,
Not stopping her watered fantasies from gardening the weirdest of flowers.
– ‘how come such a heavy shower not stop this delusionary fire? ‘- she howls
Fields of opium continue to tower, a beam of light blinds her crier,
Wind softly roars an answer to her enquire,
– ‘extremes my dear, isn’t that your all time desire?’
Rivers of silence tranquil the fire, evergreen yews put down their power,
And gone now is the pyre.

-YASMINE BITAR

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest