A fire that burns red in the night,
A heart that’s black like coal.

The gears of passion turn in time,
Sending sparks to the bottomless hole.

Bricks break bricks into little bits,
While still the gears grind.

A match is dropped into the ocean,
For no one left to find.

Mountains lie and rest in watchful spite,
As rivers take their toll.

Heaven’s angels sing in chorus,
As sustenance feeds the soul.

The wise ones will be brightly colored,
Because the fools are blind.

Those that fly from beneath the earth,
Certainly are one of a kind.

The clocks will always turn and click,
The bells forever ring.

Accomplishments permeate defeat,
And fruits they seem to bring.

Everything will be gone one day,
Entire worlds forgot.

No matter how prolific they are,
Fruits always turn to rot.

But the ones that embrace greatness,
Fly on a mighty wing.

And the prophets of lyrical song,
Observe them and sing.

Their work lives on for eternity.
All embrace the plot.

These legacies that were skillfully woven,
Are forgotten not.

Still going, still going.