The Bloom Of Death
Tis' vanity, to cry over faint memories
composed of shadows and restless nights
to what I pray do we align
as soldiers bury companions
O' how the wind does whisper abandon
trade for pride, for arrogance
forgotten dreams in childrens diaries
encapsulated corpses in pine-sap coffins
hearken unto I alone, the stone about your neck
will fall, into my hands and into dust,
O' remnant of our landless trust,
as wings of angels fold and wither,
and halo's tarnish, rent asunder,
the mirror of regret will shatter,
all the puppet strings unravel,
abide in the cornea of the world's eye
always viewing what is set aside
astride, alone, neither grace nor harmony,
nor prideful points, nor bloodless misery
unquench the taste of virgin flesh
the copper taste of fresh conquest
unveiled before the rapture of my freedom
I call to the four winds of reason
tis spread as chaff blows through the seasons
my dormant desires rain like forest fires
and quell the savage storm of nightmares
Feeding beneath the shine of the moon
Blood engorged, tumescent with sacrilege,
the human dissolving in the shape of the new,
my new form bathing in the priviledge
of consuming love before death does bloom
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