The Process of Introspection

I found envy in the windswept field filled with bright buttercups and pollen laced gusts. Tall grass thrashed where the angels flashed and flaunted silver wings. Made of faith, exuding grace. I found rage. Eyes tied to weights, awake lying next to carrion a convulsing vulture ripped away Her ivory dress, caked in gore the bald bird always needed more I sat silent in the grass, moping. Hoping it would pass. Needing something to be the bolt to shock some sense into me. Lone atop the hill, it was just my luck. Lightning struck.