these lines betray ceremony a composition’s liturgy which determines if these words are ever to be heard or if the page in time will burn discarded but should they form the poetry of those emotions known to me then the rite of how I write will find its rhyme and remain unto the world regarded.
came again at dawn
heralded by waking stolen reverie
and as his hand
reached out for mine
a cold unearthly
stole all memory
of the dream
which had foretold
how our brief society
Hephaestus strikes the anvil and the world shatters apart his furnace red and fired as any lover’s heart. His passion spreads across the land and ashen his desire when the smoke has lifted such destruction has he sired
I try to recall, but yet the memory is elusive smoke from a long lit cigarette once birthed in glowing embered bright now scattered atoms in the night only a scant scent, lingers there not revealing out of air the single idea sought evolved from the million thoughts dissolved. .