Psychedelic Ink
Psychedelic Ink
When words remain as seeds in the dark and uncultivated soil of my mind,
The poet inside me dies in somber silence like a burnt oasis left behind,
The petals of poems refuse to infuse idealistic pigments into the empty page,
And the midnight beast lurks hidden in my metaphors... aching with its rage.
My beloved is a black rose whose thorns cut like blades of broken glass,
Her pecan lips devour my violet blood with a mystic thirst that will not pass,
She loves to watch me bleed in rivers of dreaming and of broken verse,
Flowing upon the shores of her poetic fibers... like a spell... like a curse.
On her dark and murky days her tears plunge like acid rain upon my armor white,
My knight's shield melts beneath the ebony queen and her consuming might,
She is the black queen on my chessboard of destiny and pain and sin,
Positioned for checkmate... against my ivory king... against the light within.
In my troubled mind the sun hides like a timid yellow umbrella small and pale,
Behind ashen gray clouds that cast orange smoke across the livid light and veil,
My toxic swollen lungs cannot breathe without her sugar lips to bring me back,
And she resurrects me with her scarlet kiss like a lighthouse cutting through the black.
I am her willing prisoner and I carry these chains with pride and with desire,
Even in absence and in distance we remain eternally bound in the same fire,
We prowl and howl like wolves beneath the blue and cold and psychedelic moon,
Two lovers weaving words from shadow... in the magical night... and out of tune.
Without her words the seeds rot in the scorched and barren soil of my mind,
My poetic oasis dries up and the metaphors are left scattered and unlined,
But she breathes and the seeds begin to sprout and my violet blood flows again in verse,
And I write... and I bleed... and I love... fulfilled... inside my own universe.
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