Trifling

A Poem by Aramey

Not to be trifled with
but you know not what you do
as you stand fist clenched
after the blow fades
adrenaline drops in,
bursting through my veins
the time for excuses has passed,
now, awoken, too late for that.
Circling in,
the hurricane begins.
The ground trembles
as thunder follows the lightning
surging in my blood.
Crimson fire blends
electric surges gather,
wind bursting through the trees
closing every escape
and you stand in the middle
trying to calm the storm.
Oh, but forethought
is a wonderful thing...
perhaps you should have had it
before you pushed,
and prodded,
and danced upon the grace
that you've been shown.
You stand, still in denial,
but the proof is on my face.
And delusion
can't calm the truth.
Because it's eyes
are now fixed on you,
and it's grip
cannot be writhed away
by nothing more than lies.