Iam notThou Poems

The Flower of Leaves, does not speak, nor sing!
She breathes intensly and plays on sweet strings
The Flower of Leaves, in spring, does not bloom,
She hangs in the heat and weeps low in gloom
...

Like the organ's pipe, her voice does inspire
Horrors and alure on trump'teer's sunrise
By the stringed tongues of the devil's choir
A demon should speak in maiden's disguise!
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Align! Horsemen, on this grave night of fire,
Who bear the chariot of whom I desire;
Which rides in darkness with smok'd wheels a flame,
Out from oblivion with ruinous claim;
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To be painted like genuine moonlight,
That spill'd from thine eyes in generous flow;
O Come, sweeping shadow, on t'ward the night!
Back'd by thy sainted sky of scarlet glow;
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What colorless sunshine beams from her eyes
That meets said moonlight in heav'nly liason?
While she wakes early 'gainst the horizon,
Hues unknown by angels brighten pale skies.
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Come, calm the strings and poison their noises,
The white-robed choirs with their golden voices,
They hang their heads and burn the hymnals,
Humming the dirge of exhaled smoke signals.
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Well the girl with the umbrella, she's pretty and all
But the Rain loves her! -more than i'll ever know
She walks against the tempest tears, but O
the Wind cries, 'my dear, my dear...
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My brother holds his missing eye outstretched in his palm
With this hideous stare like a bruise on a pearl
While he runs towards the line, rich with aplomb
Your sweet name on his lips as they rise and curl
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Clover on the ground is shot for our guns
Battlefields poisoned with the tears of our son
Showers of Spring mask the mixing of blood-
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A bell am I, so is the brittle frame
For now when struck but sounds a sinking knell
Tis her, the hammer, without thought or aim
Surely Loneliness' chill fears Hell's thick flame
...