Poetry : Assumptions

I am not the maverick
Admired and adored
Whom everyone wanted to be

Though I have cried wolf before,
I have nearly bitten off my tongue
To still sobs and howls that would have otherwise
Terrorized across the horizons

My stones have claimed their ground
amidst the coming of waters foamy
and frothy with malice and abandonment
they have chipped my surface smooth
layer after layer, like an onion
to reveal the last fragile bulb
sputtering its final juices
before the flash and fade

I admit I have witnessed
The long procession of stars
Until some have faded,
I have been with the moon
And have endured the aftermath
Of the night of her full nudity
That flares with madness
Coupled with forgetfulness.
And yet these old eyes
Have never forgotten its youth,
They are still hungry for the taste
Of the arc of lips
Too long denied.

You must, you cannot be blind
To the smiles I wear like masks.

I am not a phoenix, or the dragon
Under whose wings I was born,
I know no secret for reincarnations,

It is simple because
i have not died,
yet.