The Enemy

Raise

hell and gaze

at his flickering thief fingers; his

scent lingers

 

Pain.

Ceaseless rain

but no clouds out, parched from the drought you

can still scream.

 

Fooled

but unruled,

do you love to move your oldest

enemy.

 

Shake

off his hate

stand and observe the beautiful things

you’ve built since

 

he

said you’d be

better far from the sun by the belt

or the gun.

 

Leave

as he screams

meaningless rage from the days where he

painted mirrors

 

black

and attacked;

and the scars look like dimples as you

smile at the

 

life

and the sight

of the mountains you’ll climb, and the times

you’ve healed, free.