Throw scrawled pages to the inferno-
So patient a beast,
Awaiting his flaming fuel with
Inaudible haste
Yet my scripted words,
They cannot be burnt.

Fling scribbled clutter to the stockpile,
And set it alight-
Fire is aid to annihilate all with time.
So throw these scrawled pages to the inferno
(And await a flame).

Yet these mortal lines
Are eternal in mind,
Not to be eradicated
By a force as mere as futile flame,
For my scripted words;
They cannot be burnt.

Minds are glass in your steel eyes,
So tangible,
Breakable,
Why don't you throw these scrawled pages to the inferno,
(And await a flame).

Four forces are naught,
But of fire, earth, water, wind,
These astral existences are
Ones your devastation holds dear,
Yet my scripted words,
They cannot be burnt.

Physics are irrelevant-
When a yearning blaze-
Is forced to subside
Beside illustrious page.
So throw these scrawled pages to the inferno,
My scripted words,
They cannot be burnt.