Gather and pile
the wood neatly.
Stuff the paper
Torn from notebooks.
Pile the ribbon tied cards
High and wide.
Take a torch,
Or a lighter,
Or a match,
And light this pyre.
Let it warm the night.
Stand near enough
To let its heat
Make the body sweat
Away what remains
Of promises made
Promises kept
Promises broken
Promises turned lies.

Let the dead words
Burn in the flames
Of the pyre
Curling and turning black
Within the orange and yellow.
Mourn the death
Of words diseased
By lack of meaning
If you must.
And when it is done,
Cover your head
With their ashes.
Then let the rains
Wash you clean.

I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing…