The quiet beneath the tsunami,
the solitude of storm -
lends madness in the waiting,
before the night gives in.
Each moment of the psychosis,
All aloft in the Elbridge inn time -
lend a torsion and a torment,
that seeks to find an error bliss.
Longing for as echo midst the undiscovered time,
a brooding that can only be sublime,
and yet as terrible as bright dreams may come,
to yearn before some unbroken grace.
Oh what learning I must do,
to learn from that which haunts a new.
So to find that inner squalor,
that burns outside the iniquitous savior.
and so to grace I commend my unrankous