Badlands

She always waits, 'til after dark clouds form
across the Badlands of the rolling plains;
then in the twisting torrent of the storm—
she drenches all my dreams, in ashen rains.
Then as I stumble through her dark playground—
she sinks her icy venom, in my veins.
That's when the twisting torrent whips me round
and round, then sucks my spirit in the air;
and in the whirlwind—I'm always bound
to spiral right into her cloudy lair.
For in the howling wind—I'm whipped and thrown
into the coils of the same 'ol snare
that leaves me spinning in, the same cyclone.
But when I tumble through the dark expanse—
her venom burns my heart so hot, I'm blown
across the haunted prairie in a dance
of doom that bursts into a wild fire.
So from the rumble of our cruel romance
the surging of her venom lifts me higher,
higher in the billows of her steam—
enraptured by the kiss, of the vampire.
Then while I float upon a rhythmic dream
of pulsing smoke and cinders—I pray
she'll flow forever in my hot bloodstream.
But in our sweet and sinuous ballet,
the viper quickly slithers from my sight—
and I drift down, a cold spiral stairway.
For when the morning hour flashes bright—
the dark and pallid storm, begins to clear.
But thankfully, we'll kiss again tonight—
when I invite, her all-consuming sphere
to dance forever on the lost frontier.

                                            ~Tony Lightning, 2024.