Storm Churn

Storm Churn

There are days when I’m out of line and nothing wants to chime

That melancholy cloud engulfs the sublime

Yet it’s a curious fix rather than some mysterious hex

An unpleasant turbine that churns and whines into poetic ticks

My sigh of futile resistance about this unknown insistence

And it makes me feel guilty, a self-centered emotion for I know the truth

I don’t want the abyss but pleasure arises from its wicked countenance

For expression thru’ aesthetics is psyche pain’s greatest anesthetic

And I’m anguished for my field littered with self-destruction

The driving force of creativity’s construction

There’s metaphysical justice but no mercy

For the arts pronounce us guilty because they view weakness and strength with equal pity

So I crash thru’ the nihilist barrier and write my songs

Do I care who loves or hates or thinks I’m wrong?

It’s taught me that honesty and bravery in artistry is prayer

My bared identity, the singer that screams openly with no fear