Souls

We are naked.
We are sunsets.
We are seers.

I held this poem underwater.
It yapped like a pedigree beagle.
Water torture is not for patriots, mavericks or pussies.

We are burning.
We are Haley’s Comet.
We are storytellers.

I held this poem up to the light.
It shined brighter than any super nova.
Rainbows are for leprechauns, munchkins and torch singers.

We are livewires.
We are lightning in a bottle.
We are stigmata.

Charles Cicirella
2/19/15