Black Charred Chunks

it was the dance of their lifetime
it started at 6 p.m. and it did not
end at 5 a.m. the following day

the fire razed the dancing floor dwindled
the roof fell down
the doors did not open
they were all trapped

it was Sunday when the priest made the
sermon of a lifetime

there were no bodied inside those coffins
just black charred chunks, yes, just black charred chunks

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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