Freshly-sharpened point plunges downward,
cleaving memories from flesh,
painful yet utterly vital.
The struggle for life bruises charismatic symbols
with no meaning into blank whiteness.
But what is meaning?
Insensible personas so pregnant with
courage, anger, nobility, evil—
Love.
Are they said to be meaningless?
Oh, cruel conveyance of inspiration!
So elusive, so imperative—
a scornful lover.
How I long to catch you,
make you unequivocally mine!
Absent, the fires within me
morph into ice only to melt
back into fire—
Sweet Fire.
If only I could grasp you,
hold onto you without fear
of searing my fingers.
Perhaps then the Dragons would fly,
the Moon rise upon the mystical lake,
the Dream coalesce into reality.
Author notes
Scribbled this one down in philosophy class the other day.
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