Poetry is a Flame

SIZZLE, Sizzle, sizzle.

A flame that now has died-

A glimpse into a future about to be left behind;

A form that is so inadequate, with so much said, unkind.

 

Why do you so torture me with promises and lies?

A place to hide my soul, and a bed in which to hide,

A Judas at its best, yet a friend in which to confide.

 

I know I ought not trust a form nearly immortal,

As though one day you will transform me through a portal

To a place so magical, the opposite of normal.

 

A place where once words glided as a fleet,

That will one day touch the world – sweep them off their feet!

But no other realm exists except the one in which we keep.

 

So humbly you appear – like an oasis in the desert,

You flaunt, and dance, and prance so you may now alert

The closest by-passer to experience nothing but hurt.

 

The hurt comes from illusion; illusion comes from lies,

Like a fallen angel, you did come disguised;

Force my trust in you, then take me as your prize.

 

A thousand years from today won’t make a difference now.

SIZZLE, Fizzle down,

Poetry is a flame, finally sizzled out.

The End

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