Catharsis

Like ancient philosophers who coveted gold

I play at alchemy with the lead of my soul

converting darkness to luminance

and ignoring the portents

of the dangers that could occur.

The serene porcelain masque that I wear

shows a pretty glazed face where

nothing is the matter and I, smiling

on, buckle as my face crazes from willing

my truer emotions out from within.

Such molten slag of passion spills

out in so many swells

as if some great ocean of souls

had been unleashed upon the shoal

of what little remaining control I had.

Author's Note

Please comment on the word choices and structures