Fiery Blizzard of My Words

As I settle in the chair 

before my poetry book,

It is only the calm before the storm,

that is, the journal unopened, 

the storm within hemorrhaging,

the blizzard of words to be inked

whirl in the lashing wind within my mind. 

Begging to be channeled 

to my hand, pen, then onto the page.

Upon opening my journal, 

the pages suddenly turn 

on their own accord,

that is, the storm within 

has been unleashed.

Flurries of darkly rich ideas

swirl around, as if the storm

I have unchained has sparked

a firestorm, that is, the pages

set alight, flames sputter up

into my face but do not burn,

nor blind me to the style I compose.

I calmly breathe into the fire,

but it playfully reignites 

whenever I write something

so goddamn prophetic. 

I Learned after many years

how to tame this fire on my page. 

As I begin to guide my pen

through the flames,

the paper unburned,

the ink unboiled,

the writing prophetically 

revealing my thoughts into words.

Revealing surreal images

of my psychosis-ridden mind

through this blizzard I’ve commanded!

Fire, snow, ice, rain; all my creation!

Sorrows, happiness, romance; all mine!

The Gothic and surreal bridged,

darkness and light contrast,

yet, blend together in metaphoric beauty. 

The radiant, living eyes of life 

and the stone-cut stare of death,

gaze at eachother blinklessly

to give my readers psycho-surrealism!

Now, as the journy of writing 

the next piece ends, my flames 

have been smothered

by the closing of the pages.

And now, a wintry effect,

as I’m no longer riled,

and the snow begins to fall silently,

settling onto my poetry journal,

a cooling layer of ice, dusted with snow

over the book cover, and I know 

that I have reached nirvana. 

And as I still sit before my journal,

I feel a sense of riling myself again!

With a gust of my breath,

I blow the snow off the ice

sealing my book shut,

and with a commanding motion,

I reopen the pages 

to again be engulfed in 

the fiery blizzard of my creations.

Heaven and Hell here join hands

without reluctance nor trepidation.

Every metaphor which they share

will again bring the fire to my words,

and beams of light shining 

out from the pages.

I again have kept one foot in Heaven,

and one in Hell to write on… ✍️