Black, Dark, without stars
Beneath my feet, too
To place where I stand
Is dark
The plain is empty before me
A vast, unwritten page
Empty, flat, devoid of color or life
But then I turn about-face
I look to where I came from
In the distance, across the expanse of my past
A red object glows in the dust
Slowly, timidly, almost fearfully, I approach
Until I am nearly standing on it
It is a scrap of red cloth
Brilliantly hued, almost a crimson, but more a scarlet
There is no defined shape, but I know what it means
I don't want it
Or need it
A reminder, only, no force remains
Within the flaming depths
Only a nagging, a hope and dread
An ultimate purpose
I bend down, hitching up my long gray skirts
Unwilling, but compelled to do so
By this blazing scrap of cloth
My eyes are seared
As they are fastened to my past
Hands, shaking, white as bones
Fingers stretch out, grasping the cloth
Wearily, I rise
A fire in burning on my breast
![[IMAGE]](island.gif)
Return to The Poems