Rapture Poem by Ella Veyes

Purple veins under my eyelids,
Thought they were bugs born of my brain.
Push them in to read the press print;
Some bibled book found on a train.
All this flood and still no rain.

I'm back when music was a myth.
Waiting for sleep to stop the dream.
Saw myself in a spook story;
A dead fish poisoning the stream.
What's a noise without a theme?

I'll televise my poetry.
Actualise my written silence.
Like the company of mirrors.
Like an invisible science,
These bugs know no transience.

The soil reflected in the sky,
As if there's life buried inside.
I felt my blood pump in reverse,
And knew the train brochure had lied.
Now there's no spare monoxide.

Looked for a reason to be real,
Found no beyond, found no above.
Found a girl who saw no colour,
Who said just seeing was enough...
I thought maybe that was love.

Now deafened with musical grace,
I show mercy to my own pain.
Now I make love with my eyes closed,
Lest beauty might burst all my veins.
Though I'll watch for the lowly ghost,
Should the metamorph wax and wane.
And with Godspeed; profound; profane;
Watch it drown and wait for rain.