On The Brink

The smoke curling up the screen
Flat against the surface sheen

I prop my elbows on the stool
Resting my face in my hands
To watch the great blaze like a fool
Who smiles softly as the ashes land

Realising reality makes it less real
Idolizing it makes it even less ideal

I wonder if the rain looked alike ten years back
Or if that drizzling stream bore a little crack

No matter where it poured, it seemed out of place
No matter where it fell, it gave your oragans a twist

Scream, smile, sigh and hiss
Chatter, whine and moan are now amiss

13 thoughts on “On The Brink

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