The world burns
And you're the flame
Ignorant to what you reap
Not knowing
You turn the paper dry
As I try to concentrate
On wonders
Frozen in ice
Burning hotter
As you demand
For my attention
Setting the whole room ablaze
I can't wish to lose my sight
And so I turn away
You continue on,
In that dance,
Some unknown, gentle hand
Blowing you too and fro
Sometimes I wish to be that hand
The wind that makes the earth so cool
Never burning hot
Like this iron slag
That lays
Beneath your feet
Just so I
Could dance along
Turning you down
To nothing-
That would encase me
In a final, goodbye embrace
And then another camper
With a shortened, pointy stick
Pushes the log over
Just to stay a little longer
Watching it burn
In the flames
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1 comment:
I think I've left you this comment before, but perhaps it bears repeating: I want to see what your poems look like when you've played with space. Half of poetry is visual. I'm not saying that everything should be split into parts, but you should experiment. Try to intensify your words with how you put them on the page! (It's easier if you don't do it in the comment boxes, lol.)
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