A Goddess she was, skirting the town with her presence
Her lunatic glow clearly forebodes beams of liberation
An opaque light: a stark sublimation of sterile illumination
It struck his thin fringes as he had clandestinely wished
...
At the bottom of a tarnished trench;
A pit of rejection, but a kingdom to most
An amorphous tyrant flagrantly confound
Of nefarious sorcery on every soul
...
Embolden the soul with the virility
Found in no beasts, but in divinity
The prize bequeathed by Mnemosyne
The grandeurs and horrors to humanity
...
In a moribund day reigned by an empathetic sun
Serendipity lingered amongst ghosts withholding scant
Fluid hands pale as the toppling films of the sun’s corona
Flimsy hands shackled in a culvert; a deceitful supernova
...
Pacing down a string of deceit
Strings that conceal attachments
I wonder how tangled I weave
Sunken deep in this resentment
...
Wide open sea, bludgeon my grand flee
To where the beast would sing to me
Debonairly and treacherously the riddle
That shrinks one mind to gamble and fiddle
...
As I stand before you the picture gets clearer;
Clear as the dermis of the sun perching aloft
The hands of clock would fritter away
Your incinerating flame would freeze
...
There’s a storm brewing,
And a moth in the ceiling
And there’s a man blatantly rusting
Encrusting with cobwebs, chipped and jagged
...
Dangling by the ceiling these moths
Such lackluster but can never abort
Eternity that these starlights behold
Let it go, take flight, let it all unfold
...
When the crimson corona anchored itself flimsily
On the gnashing teeth of the chipped horizon and duly
Propose a solemn banquet in the expanding firmament
For the nocturnal vagabonds flagellated by no retirement
...