When Death Knocks Twice and You Refuse to Answer by Olivia Salter / Literary Poetry

When Death Knocks Twice and You Refuse to Answer

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 274

The first time, he came as a whisper—
a creak in the floorboards,
a shadow flickering in the corner of my eye.
I thought it was the wind.
But the wind doesn't sigh like that.

I turned my face to the sun.
"I'm not done," I said,
clutching the thread
of one more day with my laugh
still echoing down the hall.

He left without protest,
only a glance—
not cruel, not kind—
as if to say,
You'll remember me later.

And I did.
He returned not in shadow
but in the mirror—
in the gray under my eyes,
in my mother's hand trembling
when she passed me the salt,
in the silence
that pressed against my ribs
while the world kept spinning.

He knocked again.
Harder.
This time, with names:
Jerome.
Aunt Vi.
Even the baby we never met.

But I stood still,
not with anger,
but with fire.
"There are stories left in me," I said,
"and a garden in the back
that still needs planting.
There's a boy I haven't forgiven
for leaving without goodbye,
and a prayer I owe my father
before the light fades."

He waited—
and walked away.
No slam.
No scorn.
Just the echo
of my breathing
filling the room like promise.

And I,
more alive than ever,
held on.
Not for fear—
but for the unfinished
love still growing
beneath my ribs.

Each morning, I rise
with the sun's gentle touch,
carrying memories
like stones in my pocket,
reminders of paths yet to tread.

When death knocks again,
he'll find me dancing
in the rain's embrace,
singing songs of those I've loved,
refusing still to answer.

Eternal Mirrors by Olivia Salter / Poetry / Twin Flame

 

Eternal Mirrors

By Olivia Salter

Two souls divided, torn yet whole,
Reflections cast in cosmic scrolls.
An unseen thread, a pull so tight,
A fire that flickers in the night.

Before first breath, before first name,
They burned as whispers wrapped in flame.
Split by fate yet never lost,
Love unbroken, spared no cost.

Across the ages, time unwinds,
They chase the echoes left behind.
Through lifetimes lived in borrowed skin,
Their eyes will meet, their souls begin.

Not strangers now, nor friends anew,
But something ancient, something true.
A quiet gasp, a silent stare—
A knowing spark hangs in the air.

The love is wildfire, raw and bright,
It feeds on shadow, drinks in light.
It tears apart, then makes them whole,
A force beyond the mind’s control.

But love like this is edged with steel,
A mirror showing wounds concealed.
It bares the scars, the truths denied,
No mask to wear, no place to hide.

She sees in him the ghosts he tames,
He hears her silence speak his name.
A tether stretched, yet never torn,
Two halves of something newly born.

The storm will rage, the thunder call,
Two halves of heaven bracing fall.
They run, they break, they twist, they burn,
Yet always back to home return.

For soulmates walk a steady line,
A love that soothes, a fate benign.
But twin flames clash like roaring seas,
A love that shakes, that breaks, that frees.

Not all endure, not all survive,
Some fade away, yet stay alive.
For even lost, the bond remains,
A whisper carved into the veins.

In midnight dreams, in fleeting sighs,
Through nameless streets, through endless skies,
They reach, they touch, they slip, they fall,
Yet find each other through it all.

A single word, a passing glance,
The universe revives the dance.
Not chance, not fate, but something more—
A rhythm set in lives before.

And in their eyes, the stars ignite,
No walls to break, no need for flight.
No spoken vows, no ties that bind,
Their souls have chosen beyond time.

Through shattered glass, through tattered thread,
Through words unspoken, tears unshed,
They shape, they bend, they break, they mend,
For twin flames love, but do not end.

She tempers fire, he softens stone,
Together more, yet each alone.
Not perfect love, but perfect pain,
Two hearts reborn, again, again.

The world may spin, the stars may fade,
Yet love like this will not degrade.
For even when the light is dim,
Her soul will call, and he’ll find her again.

If not this life, then in the next,
Beyond the walls of time and text.
Beyond the flesh, beyond the name,
They will return, they will remain.

No force can break what fate has spun,
No time can end what once begun.
For flames that burn through time and space,
Are written in eternal grace.

To love a twin is love untamed,
Not meant to coddle, not to claim.
It scorches skin, it sears the soul,
Yet leaves you healed, yet makes you whole.

And when the end of days arrives,
When stars collapse, when death revives,
Their love will rise, a spark so bright—
Twin flames igniting endless night.

Fire & Ice by Olivia Salter / Poetry / Romance

 

Fire & Ice

By Olivia Salter

You are the fire, reckless and wild,
flames licking the sky with a wolfish grin.
I am the ice, quiet and sharp,
a glacier’s blade beneath winter’s skin.

You burn with stories, restless and bright,
a wildfire craving the wind’s embrace.
I hold my silence, deep and tight,
winter’s hush on a frozen face.

You touch me—I crack, I flood, I run,
mountains weep where frost once lay.
I kiss you—you flicker, choke on ash,
your heat dims, your embers sway.

We shatter, mend, dissolve, ignite,
twin disasters locked in flight.
Yet when we break, we find a way—
to turn, return, to melt, to stay.

Black History by Olivia Salter / Poetry / Black History

 

Black History

By Olivia Salter

Bound in chains, yet never broken,
Hope still whispered, dreams unspoken.
Dragged through fire, drowned in pain,
Still, they rose and spoke their names.

The ocean swallowed cries unheard,
A people lost, a fate deferred.
Yet through the dark, their spirits swayed,
Their songs of sorrow would not fade.

A woman ran with stars as guides,
Through tangled woods and rivers wide.
Harriet whispered, Follow me,
And led the bound toward destiny.

A boy once learned in stolen light,
Carved his mind in ink at night.
Frederick rose with words like thunder,
Tore through silence, split it asunder.

A pen became a blade for truth,
Ida struck with fearless proof.
She wrote through threats, refused to bend,
And made the world bear witness then.

A builder dreamed, a teacher gave,
A road from dust, a mind to save.
Booker lifted, Mary lit,
A path where knowledge would not quit.

War drums called, and Black hands answered,
Fought for nations, left abandoned.
From Crispus’ fall to Union’s fight,
They stood for freedom, claimed their right.

Yet shackles stayed, though war was won,
Freedom caged, the work undone.
Jim Crow's shadow, twisted, cruel,
Turned justice into iron rule.

A man once dreamed a mountaintop,
Where hatred burned but love did not.
Martin stood, and though he fell,
His echoes rang like gospel bells.

Malcolm’s fire, sharp and bright,
Refused to kneel, refused to white.
With words like steel and eyes unshaken,
He called a people to awaken.

Rosa sat and shook the land,
A quiet stance, a bold demand.
They walked for miles, their bodies burning,
Yet never turned, yet never yielded.

Selma’s bridge ran red with pain,
But still they marched through driving rain.
With hands held tight, with voices high,
They faced the dogs, refused to die.

Langston wrote of rivers deep,
Of dreams deferred, of wounds that weep.
His words still pulse like midnight streams,
A people’s grief, a people's dreams.

Maya rose with voice so golden,
Spoke of birds with spirits stolen.
Yet still they sang, yet still they flew,
A song of old, yet fierce and new.

The blues still hum in southern air,
A cry of loss, a whispered prayer.
Jazz erupts, a trumpet shatters,
Rhythm births what history scatters.

Jesse ran with feet like fire,
Ali fought with fists and ire.
From fields of toil to medals bright,
They claimed their space, reclaimed their light.

Mothers wept and fathers bled,
For doors still locked, for words unsaid.
Yet children rose with fists held high,
Their voices stars against the sky.

The fight still breathes in every street,
In protest chants and marching feet.
From Ferguson to cries today,
The past still burns, the echoes stay.

But history is more than chains,
More than sorrow, more than pain.
It is the architects of change,
The hands that build, the minds that blaze.

So here we stand, with voices bold,
A legacy both new and old.
No fire fades, no story dies,
Black history is endless skies.

Inferno & Devotion by Olivia Salter / Poetry / Romance

  

Inferno & Devotion

By Olivia Salter  

Your touch is a matchstrike, sudden and bright,
A wildfire carving through velvet night.

Lips like embers, slow-burning deep,
Whispers like coals, where secrets keep.

The air is molten, thick with want,
A fever that time itself can’t haunt.

Your breath on my neck—a whispered vow,
Melting the past, unmaking the now.

Desire flickers, then roars to life,
A blaze untamed, a spark turned knife.

Fingertips carve like tongues of flame,
Branding my soul with the sound of my name.

The night exhales in silver heat,
Where fire and flesh and hunger meet.

Nails trace scripture on sacred skin,
A language of longing, whispered within.

Sweat beads golden, fever-fed,
A hymn of bodies, a prayer unsaid.

The world collapses, ember by ember,
A love too fierce for time to remember.

Your kiss is molten, slow and sure,
A tether to something vast and pure.

Flames rise high, no space for doubt,
Shadows dissolve as passion shouts.

Your voice—an echo, raw and bright,
A tremor laced in liquid light.

My name escapes like a half-spun spell,
A tether between the heaven and hell.

The night unfolds in tangled sighs,
A love too reckless to disguise.

Time folds in, undone and spun,
A wildfire raging against the sun.

Closer still, no space remains,
Just heat and heart, untamed, unchained.

In afterglow, the echoes stay,
A love that smolders past the day.

No morning cools what’s forged in bone,
This heat, this fire—we call it home.

So let us burn, let embers rise,
A love that dares—eternal, untamed, baptized.