Sonnet # 4

I’m looking for the beast that storms in me.
The one who boils blood and rips the ground.
She chews up hurricanes like little fleas.
And rips through fallacies till truth is found.

My skin pickles when I approach her door:
I’m blind and deaf to what she does within
Do I dare to knock and feed her more;
to jump into the mire and take a swim?

She is a devil-angel mystery.
Swarming around my soul, yearning for light.
She shivers when I try to set her free.
She longs to shout and rove with all her might.

The moment I release these shackled fears,
my beast will reign and wipe away my tears.

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