The Lily Spurned

I dreamed of you: 

dead sheep's head, ruptured skin-  

from your mouth 

apocalyptic verses spill, 

all dark, 

all torn, 

no revelation woven through. 

 The sky that roiled and burned 

has hardened so that cherubim 

cannot emerge. 

 Your sons and daughters worship you, 

but I would say you're not the god I thought I knew. 

 The tiger's roar, 

teeth, and claw, 

are butter-myth, 

soggy in the summer sun. 

 The dream is done,

your ashen wings, mere cinders, 

disintegrate 

upon the tongue.