Boiling Cauldron

Boiling in my mental cauldron  
are thoughts so toxic,  
capable of enslaving the air of its purity  
and ushering carbon atoms
through reluctant veins  
to promote their propaganda  
against my heart  
 
The fires of will and experience,  
ever blazing and shedding their fury,  
which can only cause the toxic vapor  
to fill more ground faster—  
 
Soon, it might take over my heart,  
darken my soul  
and bury away the little boy  
that still carries his little candle  
of poetry;  
burning still and dim,  
as if afraid to outshine darkness—  
 
Wisdom, though, sits at the base of my heart  
Observing  
Imploring that "love covers a multitude of sins"  
Adoring the small boy within me—  
 
As if wisdom, knows something foreign to my mind!