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Poems by Christina Burnette
"Loved"
With no memory, I recall.
The greatest gift of them all.
Fourteen years ago and a day.
My parents though of me a certain way.
They held me tight, all through the night.
They LOVED me so!
I was a baby though!
I looked up to them with high hopes.
Til this day,
I wish I could say,
That they feel the same way.
by Christina Burnette
Richmond, VA
1/10/95
"Black"
Black is a bird; a crow, a raven.
Black is a cry; a whimper and sorrow.
Black is a cave; dark and hollow,
an echo that is heard from far away.
It is the taste of burnt toast and wood.
Black is death, doom and drought.
Black is the feeling I get when I have
the blues, cry and pout.
Alone, afraid, depressed and evil
ink, a name and leather are black.
Black is a cat, midnight and solid
green eyes, long tail, scary and bewitched.
Black is the sound of silence.
How could sounds and feelings be without
something BLACK!
by Christina Burnette
Richmond, VA
4/9/92
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