#mini sonnet

the air smells like calamity and wine. she sits, weeping about a charcoal smudge, her eyes ablaze, she's trying to define the selfish art she often tried to judge. her fingers, shaking, ignite a bonfire. cigarette turns pensively aglow. you see her fervent mind is filled with shame; that wandering soul turned false so long ago. today, you hold her, through her vanity. lungs turn to ash and hearts become fool's gold, and you must help to keep humanity; protect wildflowers from persistent cold. with broken heart, she tried to medicate; in modern, tragic fashion, she found fate.

the air smells like calamity and wine. she sits, weeping about a charcoal smudge, her eyes ablaze, she's trying to define the selfish art she often tried to judge. her fingers, shaking, ignite a bonfire. cigarette turns pensively aglow. you see her fervent mind is filled with shame; that wandering soul turned false so long ago. today, you hold her, through her vanity. lungs turn to ash and hearts become fool's gold, and you must help to keep humanity; protect wildflowers from persistent cold. with broken heart, she tried to medicate; in modern, tragic fashion, she found fate.

What a tepid world we live in, so frail Living in this unforgiving iron Jungle of a city where babies wail, A world doesn’t exist outside of your own Three concentric circles all in a line, Standing apart, their hearts beating in time.

Ardor and calm in harmonious mesh.