Conceit, a blazing circle, a scorching eclipse,
Repelling full force, tossing dust and speck,
Fusing, merging, becoming
An evanescent shadow coated with flame.

Fires do not wither; barriers do not totter.
I wander in the sepulchral ring,
Guarded by inward fury,
Driven by a demon.

Giggles and snickers and mockery,
Tear at me, throwing lethal axes,
Wounding my ego
As it sheds droplets of blood.

Questions encircle the fog;
Why me? For I rise beyond
Little children’s games.

Shall I flounder in the dirt,
Join in infantile teasing,
Step into a world of darkness,
To fit in?
I am too good.

Spikes and spurs with scythes of fire
Protrude against my lost, wild soul,
Hurling peer, friend, mother, father
Into the dark and endless sea,
Like galleons reduced to rust.

An epiphany of vanity,
Of seclusion,
Of a crumbled rock tumbling down
Recklessly and headlong
Until I stand alone.