The Gathering Storm Poem by Leo Yankevich

The leaden marrow shrouds some brighter source.
Its boundaries are jaggéd and fluorescent:
a god’s seaming white schizophrenic shores.

Beyond: is the blue of the firmament
and, perhaps, Deitas, the knowledge of—
glanced in a piercing flash, (even though pent
in the dark heavy flesh, under dandruff,
mucus, urine, and blood, the shackled soul
questions if its existence is enough
to win over the maggot in its stool) .

And beyond that blue: it’s blacker than bright:
the stars shine according to their own due.
And there at the edge: it's brighter than night
for the unworldly few.