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.