The fire of the devils burns,
it fights, it harms and it conquers.
On its path it brings nothing but death,
like the almighty dragon's breath.
It smells like burning metal,
and also like death,
because teeth, which are a peril,
made of iron, burn with every single breath.
The fire comes from deep within,
from the liver or stomach, you could not tell them apart,
oh no, silly me, what a moment of chagrin,
it comes from right here, right from the heart.
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This is more of a rhyme than a poem, but I'll leave it here nonetheless.
YOU ARE READING
floating thoughts: poems & quotes of a bookworm
Şiir❝Poems are the words of the soul, but never heard. The words of the heart, but never appreciated. The words that echo through the mind, but never spoken.❞ © 2013, All Right Reserved: S. Mukobo-Pandu
