Truth

Keep eyes trained on shiny surfaces Stare into reflections, memorize the future Anger is not a root The day you were born was stormy Thunder pulled you from your natal shroud You breached yourself into the eye Distracted by the shape of the spoon, so pleasing to the mouth The words fell Like tiny bombs, shrapnel biting flesh The sun at your back propelled you Right through the fire storm Believing it was only a swarm Of fire flies Anger is more like a blossom When it’s still, the quiet can be heard weeping from the stamen Fearing The beak of the bird