That silver streak cutting across azure yonder flutters my heart; lingers your smile
The faraway avion disappears into oblivion
Bright dawn - only a figment of my illusion
Soft as snow the dusk falls
But I freeze.
I fumble in darkness, grope in vain; my handle of icicles - it stings in pain
This delicate thread of thorns, invisible, yet so potent
Purple shimmer, sweet orange; my resistance slain
Why force-feed me your poison ivy?
Bury me. Leave.
Painting: Blade, 2005, Julius Macwan, Acrylic on canvas
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