Sunday, June 19, 2011

The Fever

The breathtaking ache fuels the contortion.
The heat in the eyes creates rippling distortion.
The eyes have sunk
The mind in a funk
The body has lost all proportion

The flames lick higher and higher.
Thoughts and memories make fodder for fire.
Though her health would improve,
The girl cannot move.
Her life is consumed in the pyre.

Her faltering footsteps reach
For the ice of the floor beneath.
Her paces show on the ground
But what cannot be found
Amidst this heated chaos is relief.

The dice of fate have been cast.
Each shudder of breath like the last
To pallor she succumbs
And with a pulse rate like drums
Her hull is shattered: she clings to the mast.

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