It all had started,
With a little, tiny, match,
And where the path had parted,
Faced with choice that seemed to have no catch.
But, there is always a catch, whether you see it or not,
And when the spark caught,
still easily gentle to be blown away,
But as those thoughts do sway,
You choose yet a different decision,
Yet will fail, because you don't approach the flame seeing all the colours,
Or use delicate precision,
Don't realize the plan needs revision
For you give far too much air for the fire to breathe,
You listen to it hiss, and seethe.
Oops.
So now you desperately try to blow it out,
Blow away all your doubt,
But it spits back at you, biting at your skin,
Now, not hopeful in the least, that you'll ever win.
You wince, and scream,
'Wake me up, it's just a dream.'
If only.
That fire spreads,
From tree to tree,
But all because you set it free..
What gives?
You know you can't possibly stay alive as it lives,
You throw water atop, only a temporary fix,
Any other folly tricks?
You look at a city, which has once been a town, seconds before, a forest,
With a frown,
Not replying with a sound, sitting on a cloud.
mortified, as it snows ashes.
Ashes,
ashes,
we all fall down.
YOU ARE READING
Spontaneous Works of an Endless Dreamer (Poetry)
Poetry"ѕσмєтιмєѕ уσυ ωαкє υρ ƒяσм α ∂яєαм. ѕσмєтιмєѕ уσυ ωαкє υρ ιη α ∂яєαм. αη∂ ѕσмєтιмєѕ, єνєяу ση¢є ιη α ωнιℓє, уσυ ωαкє υρ ιη ѕσмєσηє єℓѕє'ѕ ∂яєαм. " ― яι¢нєℓℓє мєα∂, ѕυ¢¢υвυѕ вℓυєѕ
