Isle

A Raven cascades his shadow across the drape
The droplets of frost, paralysed in golden winds,
Thaw to streams of lead beneath sunken isles;

And so it grew! … The weaves of cotton
Lining from the shores, each wave
An eye of lead to be worn as a suit of armour

For the army knew! … Though a corporal
Weaved from fabrics had to address
The bloodshed he proposed, as wine, as blood…

He asked of his father weaved from feathers
By a night shade of black..Though no cuckoo's
Rang from the bouncing isle lost as blood…

So he proposed to his mother,
Though out of her thoughts of white
That made absurd the white drapes

Of doves that lined the crimson shores
Not in the eyes of his father that did
In his own divinity of blood…

See in the three eyes the circle of the sun
Making the light shine upon his face;
Though not line in white drapes the divinity

Made eternal by the dying solider who heard
Through the war cry of his father; but the eternity
Of a mother sought for within a grave, his own disgust…


And a grand design for purpose
‘Or that of memory…' She shouts,
Echoing on for eternity…

———————————————————————————-

The isle flipped, the fabrics weren't saw for in war
That made pour the divinity lost, as wine, as blood…
But as the sun shining upon all faces that is adored! ….

This existence was sought for in all continents, all man! ..
Though the Sun in all was made a joke,
Made divine by the feather of a raven — by the mother that hears…