What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?
It would be for me- the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.
Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.
Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.
The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.
Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.