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