Burn the Pages

Burn the pages

of all my poems

of all my dreams

of all my thoughts

burn them all;

let the flames consume them

reduce all my work to ashes

then let the Wind scatter them far far abroad,

till they are all lost

and gone and no longer mourned;

All that is left behind is the empty grave

of hope betrayed, desire abandoned, ambition thwarted;

Bereft of significance

slung with abandon onto the Pyre,

scenes from the flickering dusk

its orange and reds dance

across our implanted memory,

our specious thoughts thought by someone else

their currency forged,their lies spoken

as if they alone were truth,

but the flames only know anger

and they consume all.

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