A Year of Poems – Day 301

I invoke the muse like the songs of old,
If such things are still allowed,
For my eyes have stared at concrete walls
And searched for truth in opaque glass.
I will return to the old traditions
Because without them a rose is a flower
Not a growing beating heart.
I took biology in high school
I know how flowers work,
There’s no meaning in a sunset,
Its only a fading light.
But when I see a day’s last pyre
As it dies beneath the earth
I see the funeral of poetry
That can see beyond this earth.
So send me a muse of fire
That I might burn like liquid gas
And as the smoke glows red and pink
I can sing of the world beyond.

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