​A metronome's heart, a steady click,
The quiet before the sudden, lick.

Two wooden souls, a perfect pair,
Waiting to cut through, the heavy air.

​A snare drum yawns, a cymbal gleams,
Waking from quiet, rhythmic dreams.

The kick drum thumps, a primal beat,
A pulse that flows from head to feet.

​The sticks ignite, a blur of flight,
A thousand strokes in fading light.

They dance and blur, a fiery line,
A single drummer, one divine design.

​Broken into, the Styxx are burned to ash,
From the fire that consumed, through rhythmic crash.

A rock and roll storm, a jazz-fueled trance,
Each hit a note, a furious dance.

​The crowd is caught, a living wave,
By every rhythm, that the drummer gave.

They hit the crash, a brilliant flash,
A thunderclap, a sudden splash.

Of sound that soars, then fades to gray,
Till the next rhythm takes, them all away.

Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "

I'd rather write poetry, put voice to my inner man. I'd rather give you the story,on the expression of how it can.  

Draw out the poison, place forgiveness, in place of your pain. Give you the answers, that escape you today.

Pick up the peaces, others broke anew, put a bandage on your heart, as it renews.

Hold you while the tears, fall like rain, dry your beautiful face, make you smile again.

I'd rather write poetry, because I've never met you, except in my dreams, my heart, when this is read, could this poem be, for you???
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "

I stand upon the shore, a realm of silver sand,
A placid sea before me, a tranquil, glassy land.
The zephyrs breathe a whisper, the gulls in circles wheel,
A flawless, mirrored canvas, its oh so real.

But then a tremor quivers, a shudder from below,
The surface starts to ripple, a sudden, fervent glow.
The liquid glass contorts, a tempest in its womb,
From placid grace to frenzy, an unforeseen cataclysm.

The azure hue has fled, a pitch-black chaos reigns,
The water turns to ink, stained by unseen pains.
Strange visages emerge, from depths no sun has kissed,
A gallery of grotesques, from a dark and ancient mist.

A fissure rends the firmament, a blaze of searing light,
A thousand bolts descend, piercing the eternal night.
A caterwaul of spirits, from the depths of time's abyss,
A chilling, soul-deep terror, a shriek I can't dismiss.

The phantoms dance and writhe, upon the foaming waves,
Their forms of vapor linger, from forgotten, watery graves.
The voices wail and moan, a cacophony of dread,
The sound a phantom current, of the countless, long since dead.

The chaos is a symphony, of maddening, wild delight,
An opera of fury, a canvas black as night.
The spectacle unfolds, a masterpiece of pain,
A beautiful delirium, as sanity drains.

This world is now a vortex, of fury and despair,
A cosmic, brutal ballet, beyond what I can bear.
My mind begins to splinter, my sanity to fray,
I welcome the oblivion, that will carry me away.

I am a part of madness, the chaos is my own,
The voices are a chorus, a seed within me sown.
This frantic, churning terror, is all that I can feel,
A perfect, dreadful beauty, a reality I kneel.

The thunder in the distance, a drum against the sky,
A final, deep surrender, a final, whispered cry.
I'm losing my perception, my senses start to fade,
The phantoms are my family, the chaos is my aid.

But in the maelstrom's heart, a stillness starts to bloom,
A quiet, slow descent, into a peaceful tomb.
The roaring lessens quickly, the lightning flashes cease,
The tumult yields its power, to a fragile, silent peace.

The shadows lose their form, the phantoms start to thin,
The water smooths its surface, the calm returns within.
The air is pure and still, the terror fades to dust,
The screaming is a memory, a moment's fleeting lust.

A sigh upon the air, a gentle, soft refrain,
A breath of simple quiet, after a hurricane.
A perfect, whispered quiet, a stillness in the night,
The vastness of the ocean, returning to the light.

And with the final breath, the perfect silence falls.
No frantic, churning terror, no echoing of calls.
Only the moon's pale shimmer, upon the ocean's face,
A single, final whisper, within this silent place.

Michael Powers
"Styxx On Fire "

If the pain I feel, is yours not mine, then why is your pain,living inside?
In this heart,left with nothing to give,your pain has destroyed it,nothing left but tears.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "

If I found you,and you me? Would you find,you,you found in me?
Or,would the you,I thought I seen,is the you,I never saw,in me?

Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "