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 !
-
Author:
WL (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2017 12:22
- Comment from author about the poem: Painting and a poem of great social importance...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 59
- Users favorite of this poem: myself and me
Offline)
Comments3
Beautiful work Bill - both poem and painting.
reflecting the light of desire,
the attractive color dripping off
can not resist the temptation to taste
the perfect fruit
without considering the poison and consequence
Beyond pain
but never beyond sorrow
Great painting, great poem, WL!
And you are so right,
art is life, and life is art
and the two shall never part
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