Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned;
But at last it tis the beauty of this fury that rests upon the morning dew and the wings of Angels in flight.
That give it the bitter sweet taste of delight.
We can not but feel the fury alone. For in it lies the death of dusty bones. To rot and smell of all things so foul… I would rather give it flight and be the tempest that brings the life to the red hot sunlight at Heavens dawn…