It's Raining Daggers (Precious Heavy Metals, Pt.3) Poem by Axley Jade Blaze

His rage was his beauty, and it was like the edge of a sharp and potent but aged dagger.
A Kandinsky painting, timeless;
And senseless as well, without closer inspection.

One had to be willing to comprehend it.
Explore it.
Put the pieces of the mystic's core and layers together.

He had the visual aspect that, perhaps, an acid trip could exploit.
Colors enhanced, when stimulated and stimulating.
More layers and designs through the kaleidoscope.

He had raw magnetism, were-wolfish, with burgundy colored eyes and fine freckles on his nose.
The only inkling of an infantile past—that nose, bulbous at the tip, and charmingly wide,
Like that of a small boy.

All of this coupled with his soft voice,
Contradicted by a masculine demeanor
It was a violent storm with beauty.

It was like raining daggers.
Something extraordinary but deadly.
Something unattainable.

A storm I couldn't weather,
And couldn't obtain in full;
Ever.

Still, I stepped outside in bare feet,
Walking toward the storm with utter defiance.
And mysterious bravery.

I welcomed the storm, was impregnated by it,
Stomach full and round.
Ready to produce the kind of magic only the dreamers write about!

I was ready to walk on the edge.
I was ready to follow.
No matter if it was only a cliff I was headed towards.

I was ready for the storm.
To make love to it.
Ready to give birth to knives.

© copyright 2018-2024 It's Raining Daggers (Precious Heavy Metals, Pt.3)