Epizeuxis

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.