Delicate Flower
my anger is a smouldering fire deep in me
strangely warming me and I do not fear it.
in these days it is my only source of light
the strangely smouldering fire.
these days go by me angry and unknowing
winter comes and anger warms me.
the learning is trial by fire.
people
place
time
dreams
light
my madness is my own: I push it to the end.
I die and sometimes kill for knowing.
anger in my madness is a delicate flower.