MatchA Poem by taylor ski
One fluid motion
tiny Promethean gift a small beginning. Unwanted Zephyr's flickering wisps in hot air survives, with more might. Yet then, falls sparkling end and start, inflamed souls rise hand too, nothing is safe. Quickly out of hand rising...falling...progress onto double string. Lighting dark faces glowing, brightly, lou of love; pale shadows cast black. Irrational fire decidedly lonesome waste war has no winners.
© 2012 taylor skiAuthor's Note
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