She sits beneath a quilted cloak
Her vision obscured through heavy smoke
above her flames do dance in time
to a tempo of crackling weathered pine
a distant siren breaks her core
she starts to move across the floor
the room does spin there is no way
there is no time she cannot stay
her cloak abandoned and tears run free
and through the void she tries to see
her memory stained all things decayed
all that she knew was stripped away
Her only place her sacred room
In the end became her tomb
What do you think of my poem?