Not the first burn-it-all-down
An aftermath of broken hearts
In the relief of at last it's done
Or undone yet again in the fever pitch
Of how the cycle returns to itself
with a hundred matches lite under
The vulnerable exposure of choices
Incongruent with each other, writhing
Looking for that patch of green
Under the April showers to bath in
From the smoke and faltering
Cinders laid to waste by the
Try to hard yet again and again
By the lashing beseech of lost
Yesterdays yearning to free the heart
Outcasted on a lonely patch of Spring
Waiting for a renewal
Waiting to be the seed planted
Waiting for the rain to drown
The last ember
copyright. jeanne adwani
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