Dear Mookie, I'm not one to boast,
But perhaps today you've met your match,
Not me, not I, don't suppose,
But by the time we're done, at least one will be toast.

Now just for starters, I set thee a riddle,
A riddle, though a poem it be,
An answer I seek, ye fickle fiddle,
Come, come and parley with me.

<----------->
An angel walks among our midst,
A celestial being so divine,
The truth is that this poem depicts,
An end of hope with a sigh.

Fire emblazons the very path she treads,
An angel wreathed in light ethereal,
Dispelling notions of hate and dread,
So compelling, wondrous, it's almost surreal.

Her arrival marks a passage of time,
A time of rapture and light,
And departure brings shattered dreams, a rhyme,
Parodical, agonizing, bereft of sight.

Ever she passes thru', countless souls,
Joy and bliss, yet casts her own shadow,
A skulking shade, a despairing cold,
A face ashen gray now sunk so low.

And ever he follows, there when she leaves,
But so it must be like the coming of the morrow,
The truth is that this poem now weaves,
An intricate pattern of joy and sorrow.

<----------->

I ask thee now what this poem means,
Show me what a wonderful poet you are,
If thou would skewer me piece by piece,
Your mastery I admit for your mind's peace.

Have fun!

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Vita, in the year 436 AD.