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Embers to the darkened sky,
              see them lift on paper wings;
  flutter, glowing butterflies,
              fairy lights, glorious things!
  Carried on the slightest breeze,
              sound of sparkles, crackle-ing.
  Is it magic? Do they fly
              away to other darkened skies?
  ...Or do they, as all embers must,
              fade back down
                                      --as common dust?
Creative Commons License
Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
:iconalimari:

Author's Comments

The title is Spanish for "ashes".
Don't ask me why the title is Spanish when the rest of the poem is English. It just fit.

My parents built a bonfire to burn some old wood that was lying around the house. Lot of paper and cardboard, too.

Paper is so light, it lifts itself up on the breeze still burning.

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:iconshinji-complex:
yowza.

the rhythm is pretty much amazing. :D

--

Two-headed boy, she is all you could need
She will feed you tomatos and radio wires
And retire to sheets safe and clean
But don't hate her when she gets up to leave
:iconalimari:
:heart: I know
Credit to Shel Silverstein, I had his style in my head, he makes slant rhyming seem effortless.

Children's poems are always better...
:iconelliaana:
that's lovely

--
"Everything in this room is edible. Even I am edible! But that my children is frowned upon in most societies" - Willy Wonka

Suicide of the fridge magnet - "Argh! I can't take it anymore! I feel so restless! I hate being stuck in one place for too long!
:iconashmadai:
Wonderful poetry. Great rhyme.

--
Words are such inadequate vessels for thought.
~Ashmadai
:iconalimari:
"El halago no hace merito." Is that all you have to say?
:iconashmadai:
What?

--
Words are such inadequate vessels for thought.
~Ashmadai
:iconalimari:
I would like more detailed critique if you want to give it. Thats why I'm posting in the first place, to get feedback.
:iconashmadai:
Mi amor, aveces las palabras no me bastan para decirte cuanto amo todo lo que haces, ni para definir el trabajo que realizas. Si Dios me lo permite, te explico como me siento. Pues aunque sea contra la voluntad de Dios, te trataré de decir. Tu arte es como el hijo de las musas y las gracias, que me llenan el corazon de emociones, angustias, felicidades, tristeza y dolores. Toda emocion que conlleva tu trabajo entra a mi y se manifiesta, no te enfades si no te digo como me siento. Pues no es por no querer. Mi querer es que algun dia te pueda explicar como me siento y que entiendas cuanto amor es posible brindar, que sepas cuan grande es la felicidad que me das. Tu arte es El Arte, y no importa lo que hagas lo amaré.

--
Words are such inadequate vessels for thought.
~Ashmadai

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June 18, 2006
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