Bruised irises swathe a chalk-white slate
A pale rose need not hurry for fate
A fascist tease, a glorious rendition
Through the seething pools on this slate
I may find opposition

A premonition amidst howling wind
Tormented grays
Tormented they spin
Swirling like a vagabond’s last gin
What beaten eyes so weary and blue
Raging red against the paths cruel,
They forever seethe, yes they do

Never tempering, waters bubble and shall boil
Drowning in the painted pools of violet oil
A wild epiphany layered beneath the royal blue
A screaming misery sandwiched between the two
A cerulean rue, a lackluster hue
Growing in lament deep and true

And raging against the sea of Time on broken wings
Red, they seethe. red they seethe

Oh what pleasure of infinite measure
Lies behind those stormy gates of shivering shards
Of bruised light playing harps half-gay
Where cupid’s arrow dare not slay
Quivering, they may bleed passions another day

Like a ripened fruit fertile and sweet
Demure is this kiss, hungered yet grieved
A taste to lips gravely girdled
As I peered into the chasms of thy soul
Through those ebbing pits, long and deep
And in agony, I may weep
For their tides wash cold and wish me to sleep

Ruby rage does burn, twisting and trying
To break free from that thin azure ice
As the shivering shards scream
Twice denying, slightly defying
They dance in their glorious weathered dream
As violets serene and serpentine

‘Tis an indigo ocean, a delight of delights
A twig snaps on the roll of a die, and beauty fights
To penetrate the core of those marble skies
The galaxies of pleasure that pain confines

Straight through a garden of tears
Into the motionless onyx iota that seers
The wild orchids frothing around its centre
Those tainted, lust- violet fissures
Splashed on waters of milk
Singing to me like forlorn silk
Commanding the seas to rise and fall
Into those abyssal irises, lonely they do call

Forever racing against Time
They will seethe, they will seethe
Fiercely, without reprieve
As amethysts on a powdered screen