after the heating
free will burns with decomposition
and there is a fever that convulses jerkily
and you are a marionette with strings fuse burning
still you know that it is a controlled process that is lost
heart now an altar that will never achieve act with prayer
but still you will let the knots of air grow tighter around yourself
to choose what you will burn for is a gift that is given to so very few.
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Author:
Jon Nakapalau (
Offline) - Published: September 19th, 2019 15:25
- Comment from author about the poem: A way of looking at love.
- Category: Love
- Views: 8
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