Allow me but once,
To sit upon thy hollow flame.
Accepting thy dagger into,
My hearts frail shell.
Raise an army,
To lift the dead from thy shackles.

Heaven’s breath but a mere mirage,
A fog in which,
Taketh forth one’s soul to the gates of hell.
Banquets of blood and iron,
Thy lie upon one’s own blade,
And wear thy crown with a final breath.

Heaven hath not been faithful,
To those who bend the knee,
And shed tears inbetween,
The toes of one’s most graceful foot.

Here I lie,
With my blood seeping,
Into mother’s *****,
And I ask where one’s seed shall grow.
Shall a flower bloom from ones left pocket,
Or shall a kingdom fall with but a whisper?
Only Heaven knows of it.
Would hallowed be thy name?