Making Love To The Storm Poem by Axley Jade Blaze

Walking through time
Lost in some riddle
Life, inside the rhyme,
I pen a mantra
While I play the fiddle

The song that I play—
The tune I am humming
A melancholy delay
Filled with death-lust
As I'm drumming

Artaud's nightmare,
Rothko's obsession
Drowning in despair
In the waves of the sea—
I lose possession—

Of my consciousness, my voice.
I can't shout for help.
Should I bow down and rejoice?
Or sit here in agony—
Full of mind-bruises and welts?

Should I welcome this thing—
This violent, dark death?
Is there a song left I should sing?
Head towards what's right—
Is right all that is left?

© copyright 2017-2024 Making Love to the Storm Nicole D'Settēmi