On Burning Wings

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On Burning Wings

Death is that great motivator;
the reason trees rise and fall.
For ever to do without her,
no reason to it all.

From on Death's breeze
the glades did wax and wheeze
yet their handfuls wore,
woven into this dream's birth.

Death of reason by any means
on rhyme reefed out from its cot;
it's not the only, or the first,
casualty of mirth.

Behind the meaning
(which is quickly receding)
your candle burns at both ends
as its center begs your pardon.

A run-on that never was,
or will be, never
mind the semantics.
Punctuation is for:

Part-time romantics.
Are you still here?
Having a good time dear?
I'll try reverse the

Order has been
broken, words placed out of
place spoken -
the metre is
dying.

The final throes approach,
that last spark of panic -
and reproach;
and reminiscence:

Life's all but a dream -
on burning wings.

Giuseppe Gillespie – May 2022

Listen to Poem Audio:


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It lives.
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That which builds by force also destroys much the same…

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