Tabula Rasa

Parading a self-imparted fame,
Filled with white sand, blue flame,
Departing, with hellion eyes,
And the cries of a scorned lover die.
Strange accordion bliss,
Resplendent in a simple kiss,
Wrapped in the dressings of spirit,
The saga falters at the spinning head
Of a bairn philosophy;
An extended metaphor for ones
Tragic lack of autonomy.
All this fails to burn
As in the past, it had,
And I bloom, verdant,
Bearing instead
Tablets of the memory,
Jewels to the falcon's nest,
As if to remind me of the morning light,
And lay my heart to rest.

The End

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