The temperature at which books burn

Creations disciples brought the daydream girl back to life,  
after she had been struck;    
killed by the speeding car.  
 
reanimated potential for beauty, basking in the bright yellow sun.  
blowing white dandelion seeds at skies not chained down bluebird,  
turned autumn leaves a terribly breathtaking orange hue.  
our souls were incendiary bombs waiting to go off.  
 
shot a long hard look at glossy paper envelope eyes,  
faces from machine factory mirrors; beveled edges.  
we plant the absence of pleasures tongue and Love's endless lips  
growing our true identity in red tape soil gardens.  
 
these pagan blazes burn bastards,  
bibles,dictionaries,to do lists;  
do we retain the fiery phoenix?  
buying self combustion god boxes  
amidst ashes repetition?  
 
though seives sand falls  
sifting through impossible tasks.  
tainted blood from bodies misery  
felt revolution pumping in veins.  
 
it is with our own destructive hands  
that we shall truly reap what we sow,  
rebuilding this spoiled world from repressed minds;  
our legacies lay not meaningless in the wake of hope.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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A tribute to the late Ray Bradbury and his Fahrenheit 451.  
 
let us lay down our phones,computers,electronics;remember what it is to feel the wind on our face not surrounded by a car,the sunshine,an inspiring splash of water.  
never forget how wonderful the feel of a book is,the parchment smell,the course texture under looping fingerprints.  
 
always give into innocence and curiosity.