Conspiring Intentions
...did we become
like flammable skies
and judgment filled urns
of ashy decay
...frightened by the kindling
of pine needles
where the oil lantern spilled,
and spilled
atop the rusty pot belly cast iron hearth
knowing the wet pine wood
spit's askew
...catching everything
aflame it's smoldering cinder
as the seepage scorches our thoughts
while we run
into the snow filled eve
where the darkest shadows crept in
to see the induced inferno
wreaking toxic havoc
...like chaotic candle lit chandeliers
flammable and easily ignited
dripping with burning hot wax
and ember's fiery soot
chasing our emotion's flame
with untamed fire
unearthing the kiln
of our conspiring intentions
...we unleashed our burning thoughts
from privacy
unaware of the presence
of the moon...
Metaphorical Muses: Victoria L. McColley
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Cheers,
Dan