The Storm

From limestone arch of Roman’s hand
the spectacle of fulsome swell churns dark.
Treacle thick, so Mercury fast
and such a tempting place to lie. 

With heavens black from rain-clouds swirl
the mighty storm shocks and cracks.
Hammer blows, so daylight bright
and such a perfect time to cry.

From minds cascade with eddies rich
the vivid spectre of beloved rise.
A baby, a mother, a lover drift past,
such tormented visions to hide.

With shattered nights vitality coaxing
thoughts electric surge serene.
Jump now, toward the Siren’s light
and such a tranquil place to die.