The brash, hard light from the candle tip,
and the contemplation of assortments that I see fit,
make the ostentatious desire of my thoughts plummet
into the constellations of dark in which the light confronts it.
To adhere to the sound of my slow moving soul,
the staccato rhythm of the soundgarden of light atones
to the persona of those who only condone
to that of true, tangible, but influential musical tone.
This erratic assortment of feelings proclaim
the physical placement in which it can be contained,
as portraying on paper beholds the power to tame
that inwards emotion to attain that eternal flame.
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