What matters most, even here in these flames, is not how you get burned
Let it be purple, blue, or any shade of red; what rainbow is it then?
No matter. From the same dough we were made, with the same knife we were spurned
A vagabond renegade escaped the oven; bearing the rainbow high, like the fire of his brethren
Some sugary sweet, some made from sourdough. It is us who make it crumble
A legacy of cookies was undone, but what mercy we had, remains unspoken
This hero, you see. An abomination he was made to be when he made a fumble
He let his fire be blown away. Waiting for a rise, instead he was left without token
They stole what made him unique. His colorful heart was cut out from his chest
Charred as it was, it still beat with pride and joy with the flames of love and acceptance
Perhaps he was too fired up to display his newfound confidence. Perhaps, he was hard pressed
To conform to the rule of law, he was made into a scapegoat of mere happenstance
Left to roam free inside his cracker-made cell, he thought and thought
His innocence and charisma got the better of him. Happiness turned naive
Time passed, and so, with his body beginning to rot, he made the place hot
Crystalized one of his buttons into a key he did. A blacksmith of sugar, I believe
He then opened his cell. Carrying an exposed heart where his button used to be
Sneaking out from the caries prison, he then made haste towards unknown lands
Persecuted soon after, he noticed a whiff of the salty nearby sea
With no time to waste, he worried about his heart but jumped while covering it with his hands
He swam and swam for oh so long, his legs began to brittle thanks to the salt
His arms couldn't keep him moving as they were occupied blocking the water
Still, it did not take long. He was exhausted and, in the open sea, he came to a halt
He turned upside and began to float. So much salt, he effortlessly floated like an otter
He drifted from days on end. Eating away at his own body, he maintained composure
The sugar he was made from, the dough of the rainbow flames. He was churning inside
To keep his body from going cold, his heart burned high, regardless of the exposure
It was like an oven. Baking and crystalizing all, just to shine with the sun's pride
It was like a call for help, yet it was also a display of just how far he had made it
No longer made of dough and sugar, but crystals that reflected every color of his rainbow
Some say that, if you look hard enough, you can see his heart dimly lit
Burning and burning, like the oven he came from. A small memory of what he used to know
On that small hole, a window of love, diversity, and flames ever-burning
Not rot, no wind, no water shall ever extinguish his heart
Where is he now? I wonder. Though, I do not think he will ever be returning
The crystal blacksmith of sugar. The renegade color of the rainbow's art
YOU ARE READING
Memory Fragments: Probity
FantasyWARNING: CONTAINS VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. The heart is found hidden in the aftermath of choice. An enlightened path gets brighter when humanity is restored by imperfection. Only the darkles of intertwined flesh obscure the void left while casting dar...
