Free Verse Poetry

Pompeii

Eyes are darting left, at the filling docks beyond but
I stare to the right where the vast
terrain slopes toward the peak of the gods.
The peak is tarnished onyx, scorched with
red anger leaking from the top, slow and steady.
The grime started dusting the air, leaving
a layer of it on my tan skin, but I hold one hand
up and shield baby from breathing it in.

The port is getting crowded,
the boats are filling fast
I’m not far from that port,
but people move like boulders,
and I’m clutching baby closer like
my life will soon be over.
My arms tremble as she lies in the bed of
my flesh; what will be leftover of the city
when the boats crossover
rivers and streams, away
from the destruction tearing
apart the mountaintop seams?
Will she have a home
when the gods are done?

ENGAGE WITH EXPRESS: This poem is composed by Phoenix Wilde, a poet from the United States of America. Her published book entitled ‘Pouring Water Over Stars’ can be purchased by clicking here.

I smell baby’s head and hear her heartbeat.
She’s alive – for now.
She breathes and she cries, heaving
little sighs as she tries
to wail time and time
again. She’s not the only one – this
baby of mine. Other children fill the air with
their own little cries. Fear and hunger tend
to mingle in little minds.

Thunder claps as we shuffle closer – gods, everything is so loud.
They must be angry, preambling their displeasure with a rumble
that echoes from the belly of the Earth.
The mountain roars as dark clouds
billow up: black eyes in the evening sky.
I wonder which gods we should fear and which we should pray to.
The Earth – it quakes – it shakes under our sandalled feet. Broken
wheels of debris vault into the heavens
and collide with the sand beside us, before us…
…on top of some. The red-stained sand is almost
ethereal – one moment, a person, the next…
none.

The alabaster and gold-trimmed temples that
were once a dream of Olympus have become a
ferry-boat to Tartarus, manned by Hades and
destroyed by Apollo’s fire. Yet, that fire looks
fluid, forged by Poseidon. The whispers and
theories have trickled in and out of me, but
now it seems there is only one need: the sea.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Screams in my right ear, baby crying in my left.
I bring her closer and whisper soft –
words I’d rather leave unsaid, but I’m afraid I can’t get
to the port in time to let her rest her head. She needs
to hear the words, even if she’ll never remember
her mother ever saying them. It’s more for me than
for her, I understand. But, a mother’s fight is never
done until it has cost her life.

ALSO READ | A Balladic Ode to Every Mother

Anger pours from the mountain, rushing down the hills.
The sobs are so loud until I realize they’re mine.
We scream, we push, we fight for life.
The last boat is filled,
but I scream and cry for baby’s life.

Behemoth demise blocks out the sunshine, yet
at least she will survive.
I stand ashore, watching baby’s small form, In
arms
that
are
not
mine.

DO READ | The New Normal

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