Setting snow on fire
The suffering, that is desire.
Burning, never needing starter
Only growing larger,
Not even wavered
By the laps of water

Maybe it's all the avarice
The commonplace detachment,
Of trodden-life, taken as a game.
It is what it is,
The way things go,
A billion different ways
To say the same thing.

Grieving the living,
Envying the dead,
This world is one
That will **** with your head.

And like amber,
Time here will harden you.
But leave a beauteous soul.
As a hunk of coal,
They will burn you
And chide, as you go up in smoke.

She writes poetry
As though she knows me,
But what a facade
She's really seen.
Only a surface glean.
Calm still water,
Digging below the depths,
Raging saline.

Considers protest at disrespect,
To be the sigil
Of a *****.
In reality
He who chokes down ****
And smiles through it,
Is in actuality.
But what is it,
To remit?

What an email,
Can reveal!
Embedded within the message,
What simple words unravel;
From where, and whom, they have traveled!
How much one can extrapolate
From mere more than chatter,
It would be astounding if not frightening
That you can tap out so much
From just dry lightning.

She's an amazing woman,
If only she thought similiary
Of me.