I'm proud of who I am now

I'm proud of who I am now,

It's not what you think or know

But don't question it, just listen

We haven't much time now.

Don't paint me in the spring of yore,

When the gold of passion and new

Brushed between our lips

Languidly —

Yet so sudden and full of wonder,

Nestled in the roots getting thicker

And dew twinkling on skin,

As a feather fell from the tree.

Remember when we rolled off the hill,

First green, all green

Then in bursts of burning red

We cowered

Our delicate eyes, to catch

Another glimpse of love —

Finally still to see the ever-blue

Of the dizzying sky of flight.

I had thought my sight fulfilled

In the triumph of colours of skin

And the mighty warmth of desire —

Technicolor

It heaved from every pore and hair

A birth, a hymn of dawn

Echoing into the heavens,

Delicate — like hope in death.

I had seen nothing.

I woke to the scorching sand

Part red, all red

In calluses

Oozing into an abyss of greed

Manic in its fight of need —

Now a Teflon

of blackened bodies sown in thread.

Paint me now in the dusk,

In the shade of our parting.

A miasma streaking through the cage

That looks out on the same sky

Only purple now as it hisses

With the last breaths of Earth

Gasping and screaming

A sick rejoice of a new beginning.

I'm proud of who I am now,

Don't question it, just paint.

We're already out of time now.