Flames lick every inch of the floor, which disintegrates in seconds. I struggle to esape as thick smoke clouds my vision. Flooring is collapsing around me faster and faster with every heaving breath I take. I hear crying off in the distance: my mother's. I head towards her sobs, battling through the rubble. Finally, after the difficult fight, the house admits defeat, and caves in. I rush to my family, tears cascading down my filthy cheeks. My mom holds me tight as we all begin to bawl together.
I don't know what mode that was but it was good.
ReplyDeleteI wasn't really thinking about a mode when I was writing it but I guess it would be irony.
ReplyDeleteAgain, I like the visual that accompanies this poem. The poem itself was cool. By the way, I should probably let you know I read this as a poem. I'm not entirely sure why you stayed with prose format. I'd recommend trying to lay it out as a poem.
ReplyDelete