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Crash and thunder, roaring, howling, screeching madness,
Tearing wildly, tumultuous fits of talons and claws,
Grappling, struggling, striking, lunging,
Blow against blow of uncontrolled thoughts,
Words battered against bruised rocks,
Clawing against solidity, tearing at the impenetrable,
Searching, screaming, wanting without understanding,
Wanting something, not sure what, just wanting and wanting,
But getting nothing, or nowhere very fast,
Striking against life, reality crumbling at the sides,
Searching, screaming, grappling, struggling, howling.

There is a fine soft lyrical line beneath the wounded rocks,
Flowing with luminous beauty and glittering riches.
A sheen of inspiration, beneath the gashes of despair,
It’s glint illuminates the dark caverns of depression.
Cautiously drawing it out to admire its full capacity,
It’s quality and strength so strong in it’s quiet softness,
It puts the blows of hammers to their shame,
And empowers all with its exquisite touch.
Opulence and magnificence dance in glorious light,
A banquet of rich lush beauty exonerated.
Yet this spring of poetry must run dry,
And dregged grains struggle to inspire.
Till all is gone and spent,
And despairs blows do ring again.