This is what I get for trying to make something into poetry that 
should have never been considered worth trying to make into poetry




For everything there is a description
Some vauge
Half hearted set of words
Triggers a memory
Generates an emotion
Create a bond
Between those that speak
And those that listen

I lack the words
To trigger the thought
To induce the memory
To create the bond
All I have are memories
Ghostly after images
Of people
Of places
That may as well be dead

Did you know
The mountains were burning
Just last week
Driving home from work
I could see 
The orange and yellow glow
Cresting Mt. Lemon
I was intoxicated by it
Jet black shadow
Of stone and stunted trees
Fades
To the red of burning brush
Fades
To the orange of its expended rage
Fades
To that unnamed color
That is flame
Reflected
On low sparse clouds
More beautiful
Than but one sunset

You were not here
You can't appeciate the beauty

You were not there
At that one and only sunset
You can't appreciate pale comparison
Simple flame can make

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