On your laurels rest
The waning harpies of Oblivion
The rude flock
Preening Sorrow from ash.
And Bone Lips click
Their vicious riddles
Into the Deaf Charybdis
Of your God.
Born Again
Out of the Wasteland
Your every phantom
Marks time
And only the fickle joy of surrender
Defeats the tedium of breathing...
Where you Are....(Strange feasts Unfurl)
Upon dead tongues
that speak of It
Never as kind.
You remember Honey
As if in a dream.
All desolation, Glory-
Yawning from
Birth.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
On your laurels rest
The waning harpies of Oblivion
The rude flock
Preening Sorrow from ash.
And Bone Lips click
Their vicious riddles
Into the Deaf Charybdis
Of your God.
Born Again
Out of the Wasteland
Your every phantom
Marks time
And only the fickle joy of surrender
Defeats the tedium of breathing...
Where you Are....(Strange feasts Unfurl)
Upon dead tongues
that speak of It
Never as kind.
You remember Honey
As if in a dream.
All desolation, Glory-
Yawning from
Birth.
Request permission to use this poem