Mystic Drums

There’s a famine. Love borders kef. And heart to soul, I’m
Lost for breath. She heralds life, the art of grief, a pressured
Scale, a measured reef. Thus the passion, angelic hells, a taste
Of flame, and psychic cells. Besiege the soul, the plight of
Love, aflame the scars, of mystic drums. My tyrant art,
Predict the night, infuse the clouds, with bliss and strife.
Else the soul, the tint of gloom, a hint of death, and sore
Confused.     

For light to dark, a promised flame, and dark to light, my
Rhythmic pain. Thus we perish, the life of love, fraught with
Anguish, and mystic drums. And oh the flare, of cryptic prose,
A splintered mind, a shattered rose. But light to flame, my
Treasured scar, adrift the skies, aloft the stars. Thus we
Flourish, bereft and fair, enlove with art, despite the tare.