I have banked fires.
I have built a tower on a hill.
I have attained.
And, as yet, I am unfulfilled.
Life races down these halls,
paints these walls,
slips out the door,
and returns with a thrill.
Baubles and trinkets crowd every bough
of the simulated evergreen.
Angel electric gazes down
upon a cozy, lonely scene.
Whispers, whips of enduring flame -
No crackles. No pops.
Burn tomorrow laden with blame.
Winged hope of last year's crop.
My thoughts are sloppy.
My heart cracked empty, wide.
Little girls in petticoats creep
deeper in to hide.
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