I thought I must confront

The unfertile source inside

The grape of serene contrast -

It is too strong, you see,

For me to die inside.

It would break me,

Not letting me see the apple

Of all harrows, not letting

I seethe the red dye through the roughness...

It would bless me.

The fog would die inside me,

It would dye me a pale purple,

Not like the pink I want,

It ceased never-ending,

Staining all that blessed with nothing to do,

It would be inside me, pressuring,

Not letting go until the snake had its poison

Secure in place of Volta there in sight.

The glut of all madness

Would never not be

If the stained one had been crossed,

Pressed tight into a locked box;

Dangerous, would her mind become,

Until the only thing left would tell the spinning story

Of a blaring goddess whose smile could caress

The spine of all kings and prides' glue, sticking

To it in pale controversy, seeing the lights

Of hell soothe the sensual pleasure

Of a public dominance never left be.

The melody switches

To a harmonious jolly tune,

Not letting on the secret of the dye

That dyed me a pale purple, so bright in the light,

It was not the pink I wanted,

It has never ceased its torture

On the orbs so blue; it was a clash

Of gold in a snowy grave,

And for once too many,

It had stained all blessed with nothing to do.