A tiny doubt sends out
the solvos. Self on fire,
you want to bail out the hierarchy.
Physically imperfect, a star
ejects the charged rays.
There was no secret of coronal
mass. You were taking a dip
in golden plumes of nirvana.
No suffering, no remorse.
A slice of moon will heal.
In your path lies the gray earth.
Who will incite the ocean now?
A transient truce will not give
you the leaping death of
valley. The clouds will take there own revenge.
