Burst Poem by Caleb Crow

Twenty-three years on the edge,

As I find that hate is death.

As blind rage is the equivalent to the black plague,

I find that man is much like the Phoenix of myth.

As we die and fall to ash,

We rise again and that is the gift.

The flames of this world cannot compare to the next,

So I burst outward into this life.

As the judges of my flesh become perplexed,

My look on this world is of pity.

So excuse my flames,

Because resistance is an act futility.