Innermost
So the little spark of indigo
has learnt how to talk.
It whispers in my ear
close to every dawn
a secret, known by naught
but by its light
hidden in the shade.
So the little spark speaks
slowly, so I can see
its meaning.
Each time I hear it, I say 'No.'
'No, it cannot be so.
You must be wrong.
If that's the man, I must find flaw.
If that's the fraud, I must find law.
You can never be right.'
I know my death shall come
from my mind alone,
never from my indigo,
as I'm a fool
that knows not how to listen.