Poetry: The Man’s Flare
The man was standing there—
looked like he stepped out of a nightmare—
Recalled the memory of a flare
That never reflected as a mirror
(Because of a broken glass)
Because if (we) touched the grass
It could have never been greener
Than the leaves of flowers newly blooming
In my garden of secrets
Because this love was dooming
The outlet
Of a greater one I just met.
Now I don’t have to hide behind shame
Now thy ego cannot divide blame
Because I am safe and sound
There’s no number to count
I am truthfully bound
To the fall
Since I recall
That it was all
Just a nightmare.
