When I saw the sea of faces
my mind did take a turn.
The voices in my head too strong to will away,
I made my choice.
I took the echoes in full
and spat out a box of matches
to flick one match to life.
the searing heat on callused fingertips
was nothing compared to the pain of open ears.
The voices of doubt and hate gather in one space
to taunt their willful victim,
spurred by duty and allowed with arrogance.
Dozens of voices that laugh
and stab with their steely knives
but fail their essential purpose.
My crimson river floating on invisible hands.
The clouds came in torrents.
They felt the quintessence.
A burning inn now crumbles to ashes
as its occupants are set ablaze and
eaten alive by the hungry flames.
The victim avenged begins to burn
but the fire has no effect on fresh skin.
She marches to the trees
while her black coat adopts the inferno.
quiet clouds cry with happiness
and the flames turn a shade of Prussian blue.
A satisfied smile plays poker on her lips
as she leaves the filthy fragments to melt in the cloud’s tears.
Quintessence
Isabella Johnson
36