How brilliant it is in all its glory
Its youth so certain in subtle display
Histories made to tell of its story
From the shade of night to the light of day
What breath it takes to draw upon the world
And hold us all on the throes of its cusp
Yet bitter and tainted as it unfurls
When empty promises are nothing but lust
Its feather we try to catch but not hold
Its touch is hunger, fury and fire
We languish in grief when its grasp goes cold
But readily burn upon its pyre
To know it not nor gamble in its game
Is a life unlived, a soul with no name.
Copyright ©RMC Jan 2018
Mistyroads 
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