"Drink", he said.
I dared not ask the price.
Dark was the brew
as the eye that watched me,
too heavy it seemed
to be meant for a mortal.
Sweet the first taste touching my lips
but searing inside, singeing my throat,
sour as sweat of nine summers´ labor,
bitter as blood spilt by the blade.
Oblivion hovered around the rim,
madness grinned in the depth of the horn;
closing my eyes, I drank up the draught,
drowning myself in fathomless darkness.
A sea of sounds suddenly seethed,
a maelstrom of words whirled in my mind;
reeling rhythms and rhymes pulsed through me,
a vortex of verses wheeling within.
A song surged up and swelled to a flood
that beat at my brain, bursting its dam
with a beauty like pain, and broke from my mouth
that as soon would have screamed, and I sang.
© 2005 Michaela
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Image: "Deep Swirl", Berco Beute, used with