Hope is a fragile thing
A dry leaf trapped in a tinderbox
Waiting for a spark
When the leaf alights
Orange veins glow
The skin turns black
A light crackling sound
The leaf will never be what it was
Green and whole, alive with color
Instead it is ashes in a tinderbox
Discarded as an afterthought
When another leaf is on the pyre
I Know Why People Kill Themselves
Published
Poetry Overdose 