Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

Amidst My Storm

 

Await the coming storm I will,

amid it’s bearing swells I stand stoically still.

I look up into the clouded heavens for prayer,

little did I know there was evil in the air.

Once more staring into that gray,

I shall never see the radiance again of day.

 

The distant waves coming I hear,

myself alone I hold so dear.

The chill of the northernly gust slaps my cheek,

the bleeding of the sun through the clouds I’ll never again seek.

Ankle deep on the shoreline, I watch the horizon dye twilight into the sky, the next bleedful thing to my mind is the tear from my eye.

 

Maybe there’s something there my mind couldn’t see?

Rather the bleeding mosaic indeed be my own mind!

The swelling of my heart in tune with the rolling waves and gusts against my chest.

Perhaps I shall wake up from this nightmare and rest,

but the flickering hallucinations around me swarm,

and I stand patient for the beating of the coming storm!