you smell of black opals
the darkest scent
one without color or hope
you're the smashed glass beneath
my fingers cutting and gouging
because i did something
wrong, i cannot hope to guess what it was
this time there's always something
your fury has no bridle
it cannot be ridden like a horse or driven
back into the stables;
it oozes in your words some dark fragrance
that inspires my own fury
dusts me with
intrigue and annoyance,
you've smashed me into entropy so many times
i can no longer keep count;
even the mercurial moon is calmer than you in
his heaviest rage —
passion burns bright in you,
but it's not the kind that inspires or the one
you want to support; it's a flame
one wishes to extinguish, but you make it immortal
every day you breathe
you're the magma in the volcano before it becomes
obsidian rocks —
the only duty you have to maim and burn
cut down forests of youth
until nothing remains but ash and smoke.
YOUAREOBSIDIAN
'You Are Obsidian' by Linda M. Crate