POEMS

SARA WEST

Storyteller

There’s something terrible
About the way they nod,
Smile and add, “What else?”
Or “If that doesn’t work?”
They force their taunting words,
Wants and wisdom on me,
My mind already filled
With stories, sentences.
It’s true, I dream like
Any other – to teach,
To heal, to speak – to write,
But my dream does not fit,
It falls, filled with fear,
Because you can fail and
you will – no one will read
Your words, they don’t know you.

Ashes

I left my words by the flame,
hoping they’d spark and
like wildfire consume.
You’d breathe in my words,
and they’d cancer your lungs.
On the hearth they were lit,
But you put on your shoes,
And thinking it clever,
You stomped them out.

 

Leaves

We’re Uniform Green,
Spring out in March,
Stand at Attention,
Wake to the Bugle call
Of morning birds, and
Reach out to the rain,
Comfort of summer days.
Green turns to brown,
Dusted over by Desert days,
Innocence to insolence.
We watch our Comrades fall,
Blown through by the wind,
Rain drops like bullets,
Brittle bodies broken and
Swept away.
We are no longer,
Forgotten sons and daughters,
Endless cycle, spiral,
Green to brown,
Life to death,
We are like leaves,
By the time we Fall,
We’re already dead.