Thursday, April 27, 2017

Poem
















































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
 salvation