Fall leaves burst with color
Paper the ground
In shades of red and gold
The shades of fire
Step on them and they break
That crackle, the sound
Of their weakness
But it’s also the sound of fire.
The thin barrier between beauty
And destruction
Isn’t only imaginary.
All it takes is one match.
The right touch,
At the right moment,
And all those fragile leaves
Become harbingers of pain and death
Such is my rage.
My surface might appear calm,
Even beautiful,
But it’s only as deep
As the foliage on the ground
The right touch,
At the right moment,
And I burst into flame
Spewing pain and destruction
Because I’m never not angry.
My rage is always there,
Simmering like a pot of water,
Always on the edge of boiling over.