My Harbinger of Joy and Madness

My harbinger of joy and madness. How will we find violets among the skeleton scar of the wildfire? How will we garner pleasure and emit riot songs from our burning lungs? And what of you? What hurricane will you ride upon as you derive chaos from the falling of a catastrophic society? Fated for failure from the very deviation it believed would give it a more stable life. Where will the orchid woman grow when she flowers from a place that was created from ravaging her? Her scent, her petals, her leaves, her very roots threaded together with the mycorrhizal bonds forged with her sisters, braided together below the ground. What say you of the diamonds yanked from the earth by hands yearning for survival to then be placed upon fingers wedded with wealth.

We are not accidents of this malevolent construction. We are organically seeded life, birthed righteously from the soil of something that was meant to die.