Metaphor loathes mathematics,
As we are unmistakably aware
Of this pretty sensible fact.
She never could, can and wants
To calculate the steps to surpass
Simile in the track that's
Itself a metaphorical orbit.
As if it's not next to impossible
To measure the longing of ages
In few static numbers of rigidity.
Metaphor surrenders, tilting her axis...
Like a surrealist succumbs
To the flow of colours,
Like a giant mountain
Gives in to the fountain,
Like a language lays down
Its arms to the vehemence.
The cold longing ends,
As Metaphor's skeleton gets conquered,
And Simile's blanket cozes in.

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Ignited by a poem named Figure of Speech, written by cattleyaon5th .