In the catacombs lies my love, reposed
in the throes of darkness where demons roam;
dim lights shone on empty tombs
a guilty verdict reached before the trial could begin.
Let the dust mark the passage of time
and make divine the smallest of specks.
The wretched stench bespoke of rotting flesh,
fill our souls with musty cement,
and gouge out my heart so I can feel no pain.

I know what caused the bluebird to cry:
'twas the deluge that necessitated the ark,
and the fact he was forced to fly the entirety
and couldn't seek refuge in the broken trees
he once had as homes.

His love, one of two on the ark,
the second- the winner, of a competition
that he'd never thought existed.

He flies close to it
to still have her near him
and he hears her chirp
with what seems like a smile, at the winner
of a competition he'd never believed in,
because he was taught to think
that love wasn't a thing one
could win or lose at.
Yet there he was, trying to catch up
in a race he'd already lost,
because his mind was telling him to keep trying
for something his heart knew
was long gone.

A tortured heart, yet the body's whole,
the sin of tears my only clue
to awaken the caring tyrant within me,
who won't let me rest
till I know her tale.

A forlorn love, it is, perhaps?
Did he let you down gently
or tear apart your heart and soul,
and take a swipe at your outlook on life
as well?
Is it a venereal disease
from a former love?
Or perhaps it is
a family strife, that splits you open
like a dull knife?
Maybe its just your beaten mind
causing unkind thoughts, like mine.
I pray its not that
but I'd pluck every one,
and put them in with my own.

Regardless of what it may be
this I know to be true:
the next time that I will smile
will be when I see one
emanate from you.

We've all seen your eyes as they are,
redder than the sea he parted
to escape from your path,
swollen like the womb from which we all have sprung-
but you not gingerly enough-
misshapen and bent, and as glassy as the ceiling
you has hoped to break.

But only I've seen your eyes as they warmed by the fire
and caught the fire in a passionate fit
of determined grace.
And only I have seen your eyes
when they are at their peak,
brighter than the sun when the rapture comes,
surrounded by lines from a smile so wide,
and on a head with brightened cheeks,
displayed for the world to see.

Conflate this with the contents of my heart
and hopefully you'll find a
glimmer of what there was for you; you,
the playwright of so much of my pain,
self-inflicted though it was.

Hush your heart and feel
its beats, are they in rhythm with mine?
I suppose they're not, we never got
on the same page, I'm afraid.
I'm scared of the irreparable damage
I've caused by daring to dream
and touch you, my sun.

Now my feathers gleefully flee from me,
and they land in the sea lightly,
where soon I'll crash,
and enter my watery grave.

See dawn & dusk all morph into one
as I bid my friends adieu to
the city encamped below,
make my way through the hills up towards
the shrine of the harlots and hymners,
and feel a release in the blood-red sky.

Chanting,. prancing, panting in the heat
of the desert mountain night, I found love
in the eyes of the duchess whose
temperament screamed into the lake of fire
and whose broken fingernails were the result of
digging into and consuming the earth.

Once returned to the city, never the same
the game has been lost to
autumnal shame in niches everlasting
into the abyss of our future
Let these words serve as a requiem for
the lost lives of our future kin.

Bleak skies foretell of a coming rapture
where bloodless brutes break bones and crush
cartilage in their claws, in awe kids stand
frightened by the thought of the brutes' victims
bled out in the dirt by the temple's graveyard;
a swift death yields an indecorous burial.
Let the children yield to fate's fancies
as we all once did to our lord;
have heaven call for all the ******* and ******
and leave the good ones to the earth forevermore.