Blue rain downpour.
My suffering soul.
At first only mist then
come onerous swells.

Ticker tick-ticking
retorting the angst,
I heave and I shudder
in fear of what comes.

A palpable mirage.

The peaceful torrent.

My martyr’s quest.
  
Redolent of
barb laden roses.

My soul urges detour,
my screams cry retreat,
yet somehow I savor
the scent of this place.

I have fallen,
absorbed by its lie,
to search for enchantment
in grief soaked clouds.

so please leave me be,

acutely aware,

this pain that I love

is my watershed dance.