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.