I’ve crossed canyons and found only empty shadows
whose waters part like glass-bound dew, gentle but
cold, (you’re so cold sometimes) and I wonder, is our
bond one of rain or of sputtering fire, just a glow?
Just a glow, down here at world’s falls, reflecting
nothing, just empty stars that died a billion deaths,
your skin is warm but your soul is a freezing ocean
they call you flame but in you I see swimming waters.
In you I see the falling Babel Tower, dead Isaacs,
is your hair red from blood or worry, I wonder,
as I traverse this empty border, barren pines,
the night is silent but for my aching footsteps.
I cry too often, you’ve only cried once, when your
madness was a potion of blood-lust and smiting,
when you are a cruel falcon, and your talons mighty
they tear at soft girl-flesh without slightest care.
But I parted oceans for you, I stole the Sun, placed
it atop your shield and you bore us aloft, I plucked
moons from the sky just to dribble star-juice on your
altar, you are hungry like your brother, but won’t give in.
Don’t give in, don’t give up, the Lion of Judah’s roar
I never really knew what to do when you were fierce,
voice like thunder, eyes a chainsaw glint, sword blazing
in armor that is stitched to your skin, Atlas sorrow you.
Hold it in, hold it back, Heaven is on your shoulders
to show weakness and be toppled by the Dragon? No.
Instead spear through a wyrm and show it beast’s place
on the dirt, just a stain, bleeding out on the floor.
Shoulders squared, head high, you march on through meadow,
Gabriel’s trumpet is a death knell, the slaughter begins now,
always now, no time for mistakes, the world’s people are yours
and losing is a child’s pastime, never yours, never yours.
Victory at what? Steaming guts, roiling blood, bones quake
and the sanctified walk forth from their graves, the moon
is a drum, you’re freezing under golden adamantine, you’re
coming close to eternal slumber, nonexistence – you crave.
I call you’re name but you are deaf, or too wise to care
about a bleeding heart rag doll whose stuffing’s askew
I have button eyes, that’s why I’m blind – you plucked out
my pupils now all I can do is rely on feelings alone.
But feelings lie, and we are strangers still, you are far
away from canyons of love, canyons of lies, canyons of fear.
Who is at fault then, muse? Who is to blame?
When swords quiet evenings in rivers of roses –
a candle flame beckons you, my vigil is over.
You bury me deep and I am alone.