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Savage Storm
(c) Uootem 2002
Incubus, witching hour tempest, nothing but the savage storm
on this lugubrious body, and loneliness, and my soul no less
bethinking again that I shall not know such love again
and neither see the sunlight of tomorrow nor give it praise.
Memory inundates my mind with images in mist-laden form
haunting and startling as unexpected lighting strikes in darkness
panegyrizing the deluge for leaving me more chaste than I have been
since being cast into this abyss where tormenting emotions raise.
Redeemed are lovers that still walk in sunlight and moon-glow:
for here I entreat that none who once loved but lost share my fate
by remembering as I do or through the night lay anxious and awake
in pensiveness, listening to the torrent, either in pain or thus in sympathy.
Impotent among the loving and the lost, this is all I know
like cold icicles when tears are wiped from the face too late,
shards of broken crystal hopes, shattered for reality's sake
like me who have no love, can find no vicarious empathy.
Incubus, witching hour tempest, grant me peace from savage storm
for nothing is fulfilling except the love of that lost, I guess
if love it be for what is remembered where heart feels as then
then on futile word and dreams, the tempest will graze.
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