An Imagination of Phlogiston

The deprivation of quiet respite it how this starts.

At first a restless feeling it imparts,

This verbal conflagration, burning through the night.

This dark destructive fire uses ink as its fuel;

The page burns, with heat burning higher.

The paper is conductive, the inferno`s binary tool.

Every new line swells the blaze. The growing flame

Creates a lyrically designed maze.

On the sheet, warmth dwells; sparks all along the frame.

Every symbol is an ember, all formations – coals,

Each verse vehemently rolls,

Stanzas flare – so nimble; and together they dismember –

The face of the pristine page, laying it to waste.

The initial mildness, is now a rage;

Searing all over the place, spreading with haste.

-Yet-

Deep within the frenzy`s wake, remains a strange charred vision;

A rather odd sort of “l'art pour l'art”,

The destruction (the fire would begin) is leaving a creative provision.

The insipid initial perception (which was weary) has quickly departed,

Left an alertness, from what the scorching started.

The consuming conception, only, selectively removed what was dreary.

And as the combustion starts to fade, silently without an audible sound;

A crescendo of an artistic, sight lays upon the ground.

The retrospect will hopefully reflect:

A fairly simple path (of rhythmic construction) appears to have been laid.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker