deeming to defy the morning
of its logic,
pennies on the eyes of dawn .
Earthen pillars of light
and shadow,
were gestures of burning faith .
making you believe in the
death of the Lowlands Goddess.
No birds will sing today .
The Marshlands smelled
of unanswered prayers .
Looking for the restoration
of her lost honor
but , haunted by a
thousand slain gardens .
Was a quiet alumni
of the rain .
a dark heart with a
bloodied mind
churching me with
prophetic dreams .
A fallen castle,
shattered walls ,
breached moat .
Listen to my darkness,
beyond pain
but not beyond sorrow .
Staring with just just one eye
through the lunette of
the guillotine at
thirteenth century morals .
Soaring wounded Angels
had made a covenant
with the Harvest moon .
Violence is always ripe
it never has a season !
Fear is not sacred
the safest places can
only be visited .
in the corridors of
endless sleep ,
there is no difference
between life and art .
It is where the Goddess
shall dwell forever !