Friday, July 11, 2008

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.

2 Comments:

Blogger Chris Never said...

Love this,


One suggestion...


Maybe

From your mouth
Apocalyptic
verses spill,

Your dreams are scary by the way lol.

9:55 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

lol. yes they are. thanks.

10:00 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home