A burial
That had not been anticipated-
It flushed through their blood
Disguised as a dream
Creeping along like a stinted bullet;
How fragile are we.
A denial
Ever-present on the brink of truth
Attempting always to unfold
Its leaves instead decay;
The word at last falls.
In its wake the Goddess
From whose bosom man's tenderness derives
Circumventing division
And blind progression,
Forever listening
To the calls of her fallen brethren:
Her skin a willing canvas
Engraved with stark ruminations.
Her golden locks
Petrifying insolence,
Turning rotten gazes toward the light
And death
To infinite rapture;
Finally the map unfolds
Bearing secrets no man can capture
Whose delineations reveal
Man's love of torture.
(To see a face turn
White under his claws
Is the closest sight
To true vision...)
Heavenward sent she
The spoiled soldiers
Returned from vicious battle
With ethereal treasures:
Infant pupils.
That had not been anticipated-
It flushed through their blood
Disguised as a dream
Creeping along like a stinted bullet;
How fragile are we.
A denial
Ever-present on the brink of truth
Attempting always to unfold
Its leaves instead decay;
The word at last falls.
In its wake the Goddess
From whose bosom man's tenderness derives
Circumventing division
And blind progression,
Forever listening
To the calls of her fallen brethren:
Her skin a willing canvas
Engraved with stark ruminations.
Her golden locks
Petrifying insolence,
Turning rotten gazes toward the light
And death
To infinite rapture;
Finally the map unfolds
Bearing secrets no man can capture
Whose delineations reveal
Man's love of torture.
(To see a face turn
White under his claws
Is the closest sight
To true vision...)
Heavenward sent she
The spoiled soldiers
Returned from vicious battle
With ethereal treasures:
Infant pupils.