Jerome by Anastasia Forfotă - HTML preview

Innermost

So the little spark of indigo

has learnt how to talk.

It whispers in my ear

close to every dawn

a secret, known by naught

but by its light

hidden in the shade.

So the little spark speaks

slowly, so I can see

its meaning.

Each time I hear it, I say 'No.'

'No, it cannot be so.

You must be wrong.

If that's the man, I must find flaw.

If that's the fraud, I must find law.

You can never be right.'

I know my death shall come

from my mind alone,

never from my indigo,

as I'm a fool

that knows not how to listen.