The color of fire in this creature's lungs Is the token of truth that escapes his tongue, The deepest majesty of existence; All good flows from this source, for instance His energy on the ladder's rungs.
For quite some time the fact has stung, Despite his best attempts he's wrung The smallest bit of the richness's semblance, The color of fire in this creature's lungs.
Burning still in torches hung Within his innard halls, far-flung His sorrows are cast by the persistence Of love enveloping like incense; Envision how it shines when swung, The color of fire in this creature's lungs.
A place for my poems 