imitation
a poem!
The imitation of the flame, fated to suffocation in confinement: exalted in fervor, burns and swallows all that would extinguish it in mouth of golden embersThe imitation of a rose, expected to wilt and wither with waiting, bowing into itself with petals hue dimming dullness: the vase of the single stem cracks ! unfurling petals her vines crawl up the wall, thorns embedding themselves through brick, once- encased in vase and room, now full garden-in bloom.The imitation of air, expecting to weigh through gravity, trapping the world in its ennui-and-orbit: leaving the spinning lifted, in levitating lightnessThe imitation of a wound, festering and hardened nature’s attempt at mercy and miracle, scab grown through with crown-of-thorns-stitches.The imitation of a dress hung on a line, the pale muslin grown sheer, thread-bare, whisked away by scampering and singing to return adorned ribbons and lace as delicate as the dancing creatures' touchThe imitation of swans, throat full of grace and gentle strength, using it in flirt and fight: dancing each other into spiralizing-art-nouveau-knotsThe imitation of a muse, the portrait of her fleeting flesh captured in archival brush strokes, minerals, oils, poisons – décolletage of luminous mother of pearl earthly burnt sienna collarbones cut through the canvasThe imitation of a memory: lips, eyes, mind, flesh possessed, seems endless ... though fleeting! as dictated by the cruel Time demanding each minute to fade into the next, too quickly to capture them in the net of perception, the Time that demands suns to rise and eyes' lids to close,The imitation of a moment remembered: in flashes, sensations, glances, poet and diarist tasting it twice! what was lived floods the palate with sweetness and subtlety, haunts the tongue, satiates, permeates the bones and enraptures every buda defiance against the very nature of things.