Lovely bit of writing
A fast-striking weapon with scarlet lightning
Streaking the night of its leathery back:
Don’t try something like this
If you’re not ready yet.
Like a beam of the sunlight, split in a prism-
The pain that’s inside us blossoms to colour.
The desert breaks open and soil reveals green:
No more do we feel the need to escape.
The old self remains as a counter-example:
Its presence continues by our need for its end.
