Name the flame they oft bemoan,
Lurid satire of man's desire;
In his wish to stem his agony
Grits his teeth in scorching fire.
Cold condoles my loveless ruin
To fortify my selfish creed, but
My convictions ever shifting,
I am the fool who never heeds.
Listen; how I strain to sing along
To your laments of lonely dreams,
My sonorous poison moans as
Black spit to your pristine streams.
Into them I wade, to float and fester.
Do I dare posture as your muse?
These molten eyes do well to snuff
That blasted flame that mocks me.
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Dear Poeter, The aesthetics
Dear Poeter, The aesthetics of nature is a strange language written with smiles and tears. Millions of miracles are invisible on earth until the nights are long; In particular, even the birth of a flower is hidden within it. Like the grammar of a glacier transformed by the gentle touches of sunlight, human life is full of philosophies. Nature teaches us the principles as a teacher free of charge. This poem really impressed me. All The Best My Dear Friend; Write More Congratulations
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