To Capture a Glimpse

I feel flame—a fire blue; but near the pith—a vase of tears.
Thus the heart, the grip of truth; and thus, the rage, a mirror
Vague. Paint the word, acrylic beige: and sandy storms, a
Faint despair. My emerald love, a golden cross; and locket
Pain, a couple’s heart. A ghostly key, plagues the core; and
Native flame, a falcon flare. I feel the flame—a fire blue; but
Near the pith—a vase of tears. Thus the soul, a purple red;
And tender guilt, a thought aflare. Such dripping blood,
Fraughts the heart; and pearls baroque, the steel of trains.
My fire rock, we perish love; and brilliant light, a troubled
Soul. I feel the flame—a fire blue; but near the pith, a vase
Of tears. Thus the joy, an art to birth; and spirit green, a cross
To bear. Indeed the wind, a gentle mare; and plangent ear, a
Wave of grey.