It's been a year
Since my form first frothed with fear
Shredded by shriveling shouts
of an uncried tear
Torn by torments meant to
haunt my mental sphere
Oceans of melancholy whose
Death dyed shores
took the shape of my own spear
Lows that flatned times tides
Ancient anxieties anchored my
Soul at the valley of Sorrow's scape
Sans high hope Sans blissful escape
But now I'm here
This day is new and clear
This breath is nuclear
A fission that flowers fragrant fate
Mushrooming clouds of Colours
that ululate
At the sight of the carcass grey that
the Lioness ate at the Lion's Gate
The reward for the reflective roar
That Reason will rhythmically radiate
That Patience is ever eager to elevate
Perfumed pulses that permeate
The atom's abyss of absence
Like The Beloved palmed in
The Lover's presitne perpetual prescence
An eternal epic epizeuxis by the essence
As poetic as the desimated one's remebrence.
