Twice As Bright

A passion consumes me. The mystic predicts
creation, destruction, endless desire.
It will bend iron to tools, and then fuel sticks
that sit in wait on my funeral pyre.
Words broke from my tongue, and to you I bequeath:
signs of sorrowful pleasure and heresy.
Swallowed whole below my funeral wreath,
chaotic attachments remain my legacy.
When joss paper is burnt, will I be reborn
an asura to wander the mountain's gate?
Wrestling our envy of gods, peace forsworn,
discontentment with life— is that my soul's fate?
Or will I in vow of silence take, adorned
in my heart ablaze, suffering for innate?

Mar. 31, 2021