Burn
What is this curious thing that burns
fills the nostrils with a strange scent
Crowds out the fantasy of passing time
and closes your eyes in sweet harmony?
What are this logical mind's concerns
on the altar where lost time is spent
Spelling out tragedies, harassing rhyme,
and standing on legs of neat irony?
poem by Poet Dragon
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.