Fireball

by Aidan Andrew Dun

fireball 1

Once I was
a sphere of rage
plummeting through
subjective darkness:
anything in my path
incinerated.

It was vindictive.
And I annihilated
one thing more
than any other:
pointedly my anger
would engage.

I hated love.
It seemed to me the trap
in which the world
perpetually mated
two things forever
trying to change places.

Children I loathed.
Their narcissistic faces
no less arrogant
than mine, grated.
I saw the shadow
over tenderness.

Regretting my own
birth as a mishap
fearing many further
births ahead, I saw
no hope in nescience
of the dead.

Raging at death
with its false promise
its posturing as
saviour, its deception
I was beyond all
imminent perception.

Up in smoke went
the rubbish of duality.
I was the bonfire
of sensuality
mocking the inferior
ones beneath.

Once I was
a fire-eaten page
where curses
had been set:
spells in a malicious
alphabet.

Once upon a time
I was a mage
in magic verses
exorcising life.
My way was lost;
then with love I met.

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