Migrane Blues Poem by Charlotte Ballard

The promise of
Pain begins in a
Flash of silver-light
Buried in the center
Of my sight. The light
Dances, flashes, sparkles
And grows
Into a crescent bloom
Spreading out, in
Ripples of more
Silvered sparks
Erasing vision as
The music of pain
Hollows out, a pause-
Never long enough-
The pain beats,
Seventy or
More. Tender,
Drawn, curved
In the hallow of
My temple. I retreat
Into the quiet,
Darkness.
The pain follows -
Hesitating,
The beat falters
Til slumber wipes it
Away.