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.
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