Between the Lines (Poetry)

A rash assumption is a weightless thing
when reckoning you've glimpsed a soul in flight
from one suspicion of a flimsy wing -
some mirage that projects from lines I write.

Don't rate my art so shallow, truth so stark,
for most of what I dream is never said -
my passions fuse their secrets in the dark,
unknowable and locked inside my head.

You may have seen the distant light of flames
but don't presume or you will be deceived -
whatever burns internally remains
a private fire divorced from smoke you read.

On such a short acquaintance don't pretend
that you have cracked the keyword of some code -
false grain will never germinate, my friend -
the truest seeds are those I left unsowed.