Who are these men and women
that move as the ends of earth--
raving stiff, sweet, bitter serums
of truth?
From their common manner a
prodigal bleeding has begun--
all the elements that eternally
knotted them now drain.
Their full significance squints
at its rise and shine, as meaning
is placed and trapdoors open.

Her profile dared
the precipice of
the ages, with the
most vulnerable
contemplation.
One could see a
rain of saintly
hands touching her
shoulders.
As if to ask: are you
okay..?

You wear the path
that shook you,
in such a way that
all paths lead to you.
Knowing you can't
lose yourself anymore
than you did.
Heroine of your
implacable lot,
all-hailed.

Once  seen, there's
a  depth  of  beauty
one  never  recovers
­from... akin  to
the   swoon  of  an
aeonian  sun.
Whereupon  death  has­
no  name  to  take
in  vain.