Poetry

Annihilating your
own minarets to meet
the god once.

Little time left to make the score.

The climbdown has started
absolute and final.

The methane was
spilling out.You need a matchstick.

Awful.You cannot see
the kitchen fire.Where was
the sanctity?

A noble cause.Dousing
the flames, to leave a naked
body of truth.

Don't split the hearts.Only
give the shrouds.Faces
must not be seen