Slipping away each day
Life, but also illusion
Forgetting at times—
A good thing
Cleansing, renewing us
Purging the insanity
Killing off our joy

On this bitter cold January morning
The wildfire inside me rages
Consuming everything in its path
Including the faded goodness
I wear so proudly
As armor against death
And its deceitful bantering

The alchemist stirs the words
In familiar self-serving circles
The search for magic ends
No gold
Just more feeble incantations
Taking their turns
Dancing with time in poetic armor