PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I know the mistruths

the withheld

the dance around

coal; blazed abound

It’s just a face

just a past

an old flame

a family of wicks

and dripping wax

I will wear your paper bag

like a lung collapse

as if to admit a fault

For how could I fight

a fire so dim but yet so spread?

How could I, with gasoline feet

and greasy hands,

bare my own match?

I should have never known

I should have never asked