Elliott Bell

writer, poet, artist, expat

Tag: Micropoetry


Have you ever crushed a chrysalis
And seen the sludge inside?
Did y’know that we were made of this
‘Fore we were butterflies?


The Bookworm

I’ll be damned
If I go to bed
Before this book
Is at least half-read.


I got so cold out there
That I built brick walls.
I hoard what heat I have,
Wrapped in rust red halls.
Now you say it’s warm
On the other side –
I hope you’ll forgive me
If I stay inside.


Do you think a phoenix knows
It will rise from it’s ashes?
Or do you think it’s horror grows
At the sight of burning matches?