The peacock’s worth is the sum of his tall colours;
verdure, azure, rouge;
envy, melancholy, rage.
Enveloped in the glamour of
his protective psyche, he knows naught other
than contextual freedom.
Courageous yet callow,
he must be destroyed.
Mutilate him slowly, feather by feather.
Shroud him in darkness;
deprive him of aesthetic poise;
capture him by virtue of his own bold conceit.
Stripped of a backdrop,
he fades into the surrounding darkness.
It is quite simple, really.
Stripped of emotion,
he is nothing.
From nothing, he is reborn as Phoenix.