Out from the Cult

born into a neon winter
garish and harsh
colors so bright they flamed
no closing my eyes
nothing to suck
only burning neon flames

grown in a cold cold winter
grey and silent
no color
no comfort
only me, alone

then oh!
on the horizon
sunflowers, rivers, green hills, sun and sand, soaring gulls, deer, rabbits, suburbs and suburbs of warm homes, laughter, dancing, song, beds and food and drink
a plentitude, a plentitude

It was a long road, but I got here