Fear’s icy tendrils caress the nape of my neck
I see the mangled wreckage up ahead
Acrid smoke spewing from the burnt-out shell
That was your car.
Carnage.
Plastic bags strewn across the carriageway carelessly.
Empty nest, neglected summer,
Loneliness brandished in the scorched tyre treads.
Relief washes over me
I am waterfall to babbling brook
Phoenix from the ashes-you live on
We have a second chance to ignite and burn brightly.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’Verse where metaphor is the challenge.
Hues of Hankinson 