For Image Gold

Such perfect angst, the paint of blood, a gothic vibe, a tide
Of love. The stress and strife, a private cave, for vultures
Judge, the dance of flame. But soul to flight, a sacred drive,
A waltz aflare, the bleeding sky. My ancient angst, an attic
Flood, a biblic death, a sophic grudge. For splintered soul, a
Poison dry, a well of flames, a spear alive. And trite affect,
A blatant death, the gas aflame, a torn respect. For image
Gold, the rule of face, an ethic bold, a sign of grace.

Such perfect angst, the paint of blood, a gothic vibe, a tide
Of love. The sax aflight, to stream the blues, a tender tear, a
Doe confused. But fluid fate, the gate of dreams, the worth
Of truth, despite the screams. My private angst, a russet
Wound, a well of scars, and silent gloom. For image gold,
The rule of face, a maxim bold, a sign of grace.