Ellie belfiglio

When I hear this sound that awakens me, intimidating its way into my cloistered night, I write…




Oh, desolate shell!

Alas, I am free of you.

The molted skin of what I used to be-

Has plummeted toward unknown depths.

____ My soul is now

___ The volcano that was erupted;

___ And became my soul…

… Spewing crimson debris outward,

As it rages…

___ There is no blood or anger,

___ Only love and ambition…

… It explodes, I explode.

Now anything and everything I touch-

Is almost reformed or refined…

… And what is not reformed or refined-

Is beyond the spectacular borders-

Of my grief’s control,

And remains within-

Brilliant confines of-

Yours!! …



The pictures are from bing.com…