Contrast
A spent butterfly
rested a moment on my knee,
thinking me safe.
Why think that?
Why see yourself smarter
or faster, you waif?
What inadequacy lurks
in my feeble stature
to earn me tiny wings of powder
taunting my tough heart?
I am moved to coveting
conscious yearning for sundry force.
Take this flagrant storm
of quick-witted show.
A micro-burst that flaunts
its power and resplendence.
Terrifying, electric mistress
I'm jealous of your clouds,
your lightning bolt confidence.
I want to be the hurricane
that blows you away
into oblivion, brewing luscious
menace for a weak world.
Not this stooping, hapless pedestal
for banal beauty.
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006
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