The Storm Implores My Head to Bow
But I am not a weeping song
Nothing to lose, even now
Even in a demise so wrong.
Black ropes extend into the sky from the confines of the earth
To smite the grey ferocity above
In response, lightning ignites to persecute all below from birth
All that I witness, I fear and I love.
A lion black as night sits beside me
(Whose golden eyes no sun can parallel)
Glares with absolution above the sea
On this cliff, we peer at a writhing hell.
Feebly so, my cold and grey skin deadens like a fish
These eyes are now neighboring stones
Hair-as bright as all of the stars that prey on a wish
What can stifle the fire in these bones?
There, the lion sped along a stretched black wire
I, on his back, we raced with daring, foolish heart,
Thunderous roars above resound as a choir
But no breach of hell can beckon my love depart.
Such anger proceeds with desperate veracity
To rise with my temper and gnarl like a thorn
I pray "hello, sweet hail" in all audacity
A dangerous height conveys a wondrous scorn.
Swallowed up with the thunder
But I am not dead and gone
In haste, I eloped with such blunder,
Something so fearsome and wrong.
Lost to a province trenched vigorously with ire
I tithed my soul to a dear disgrace by ordinance of a dark dawn
Racing on some sweet mercy of a stretched black wire
Surely, a bleaker morrow may wait, but I am not a weeping song.
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