Friday, July 11, 2008

The Lily Spurned

I dreamed of you:
dead sheep's head, ruptured skin-
apocalyptic.

From your mouth
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  

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