Shuffling Digits Poem by Alexander Julian

Shuffling Digits



A circle bursts into flame where drips remain open to hands.
There's a catch out of heat for whatever time has to offer in foul shapes.
Dressing my bowl means I hold a treasure within slots over quarters.
More of this, little of that, a dream falls with a resounding thud.
Gold fills the void during the ongoing pressure of space for excitement.
Particles or atoms, forms or states, visually attract enough tension.
Like a rope founded on a ship I leave a candle on the frosting.
Just killing it should've meant a kind of surface below its tag.
Kites flap their wings above the same ground of construction, or hints.
Burning the lost oil could've been that short ignition along more lines.
Yet, grass grows greener on the other side: silver and gold, silver and gold.
Fighting only awakens the energy upon the massive brink of luck.
Parents don't always keep power towards the necessary clues given.
Sailboats lean on water at the bay I've been looking for plain color in.
A color, color from colors, reflects the magnitude intended on my mark.
Tuning into the stream may leave the connection for its red interference.

Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: conflict,drama,fighting,life,romance
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