Angry atoms sparking in retaliation reflecting the atrocities of battle scars. Open wounds bleeding profusely, crimson life force congealing on the broken steps of the great temple. Dark matter threatens to spill, black veil and a freign of indifference in which to spike your soul, a souvenir for the jar collection. Nuclear reactor, what does the atom care anyway, good, bad their roles are predefined by human hands. They can be anything we curve their existence into.
Light cannot penetrate the obstacles of occurrence that dark matter shadow. So the atoms conspire to create a reflective surface, the continuum effect the great war of darkness a battleground of pain. The soldiers of broken esteem shooting constant rounds from guns of insecurity. But the atoms will not stop, the reflection must occur for the light to penetrate wholly.
Dispersed, a ritual cleansing of the soul. Once broken they can recreate their form. Anger energising the sparks of revelations a nuclear reactor sits inside, the button calling out.
Karen Hayward ©2016 image and words.