Basing on Blake

Quench quench wanhopes ?

of holy light –

 

possessed of day

where spirits stray

 

cannot (in & of) itself

destroy or complete

 

near shades of extortion

where sorrows meet.

 

Pent fires arc & hark

crater & ploy

 

timeless rallies with terror,

seek staggering joy.

 

Blades wired liken frogmen

to an arsenal of feet

 

whose fins buck and batter

blood-honey like sweets.

 

A green river hazard,

flats over oceans of sky

 

old weapons reload

swoon the drizzle & ride.

 

Its charms cherish

subterfuge

 

balconied mudholes

open wide –

 

Sudden – game ball

bounces out,

 

treason goes granular ?

turns a wild bulls eye.

 

Beauty senses trouble

lies delinquent, in wait

 

for deceits defiant bubbles

to riotously dissipate.

 

As sorrow aches to trust

and anguish turns to lust.