PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Phosphorus burns like brimstone;
So, father, explain its grace.
Its play across wet cobblestones
And corners of her face.
A soft orange, warning:
“I can burn you out.”
But unlike the vaunted sun,
Does not.
The iris contracts with joy.
And, instead,
A burning truce with dark.
Worldly stars,
That tell of new and old.