Bliss Of The Vain Derivative Poem by Leon Moon

The afterlife offers new appetite.
The skeleton's granted impunity.

Prophets cannot rely on words to write,
The soul's undone once it claims liberty;
Flesh is the heart's debt paid to memory,
The sun that is not enforced by midnight.

—

It's best to remember how not to know
And embrace the rest mining for new breath
In sepulchres that leave no afterglow,
The manner in which I poached my old death

Painted patterns and colour on my wings
The blood that fled, the fortune sacrificed
Are the tales and verses my scar's song sings,
Prisoners of flesh, lights spirit's divide

Cannot differentiate miracle:
In the 2nd century many men
Followed a man who could see the Devil
Lazarus ‘Beloved by the Seraphim',

He cured hunger and walked across water
And his army's conviction grew stronger
The longer they descended in battle,
Breaking depths into orders of level.

—

Heart and sword became a sea together.
Now his legacy is a parable.

—

How could they have known death bore her own light?
That the Devil indeed understood love?
Their souls gave up for good in their last fight
And angels stood tall in the ground above.

Does salvation require new reason?
Will Heaven treat tears of the devoted?
In the time of Satan's little season
Even the saints are deceived by the dead.

—

The afterlife offers new appetite.
The skeleton's granted impunity.

Flesh is the heart's debt paid to memory,
Prophets cannot rely on words to write…