Inner Tempest

The turmoil in my bosom is like the Tempests’ shrill cry!
Oh wondrous of wonders–
Please excuse my blunders,
For my heart yearns to die
Under the roaring thunders.
With a glass of Sauternes,
I roam through the golden halls of Versailles,
Escaping the shadows in the hall of mirrors–
As the voices whisper, “Goodbye.”
Through the windows I see the storm–
Oh how she gracefully greets me with her form!
Oh wondrous of wonders,
Please excuse my blunders,
Carry me to the sky,
For my heart yearns to die.