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Soul-Stirrer
(© Matilda Marks)

"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.

Over the horn hovered oblivion;
I drained the draught, in its depth grinned madness -
closing my eyes I drank up the dregs,
drowning myself in a fathomless darkness.

A sea of sounds suddenly seethed,
a maelstrom of words whirled in my mind;
rune-shapes reeled as rhythms 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 would as soon have screamed, and I sang.

© Michaela Macha

- This poem is in the Common Domain and may be freely distributed provided it remains unchanged, including copyright notice and this License -

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