you are shining,
half perplexed and half sure of the light,
the beaming radiance of you. the humility adds to
the colors of grace, and
as the bombs detonate behind you,
all is peaceful.
you think back to when your hobby was
burning flowers, how
warm the fire felt. but now here
you are. burning yourself and
it feels so fucking gorgeously good, so
wondrously right and you are
so glad you brought a mirror to
watch yourself get blown into little pieces,
returned to the earth,
a question unsolved in the war of living.