Burning

There are lights burning, through the night,

A world that exists when the sun goes down.

There are metaphors sealing hidden doors,

Buried so fully, they will not be unearthed.

Men evolve and steal secrets, so that they may

Have them as their own and wed new tales,

Adventures only partly belonged.

They speak of love they have never felt,

And the candle, they have witnessed

Burning against insurmountable circumstance.

Somewhere not far from here, the same

Words are weaving through lips, undeserving—

Finessed speak that is forged and fruitless.

Dejection is smiled upon, with laughter abroad

As calloused lips and blistered tongues

Come to meet, passionless pandering

That is both revolting and simply odd.

To the same cheeks that flap weakly,

Fate smiles cruelly to the rhythmic,

Symmetrical drivel that is uttered coolly,

And coiled about like a serpentine being—

An embodiment of edgeless languish.

Upon their vessels, the voyagers ramble,

And steal stories that have never been…

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com