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Lord-Flesh — Wounded
Published: 2010-07-07 02:01:10 +0000 UTC; Views: 434; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 3
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Wounded.© D.Walker 2010
When one can open thyself, as activated as one can be.
What is it that thy desires as the serpent-fire pierces through?
The mundane drudgery that stalkeths from ordained skies,
Screaming hellish torment from above and below?
Winds of pestilence now pierce my armor.
Swords are always blunt and void of sharpening.
The mouth spits out acid and screams with the pain of desire.
Life's excrement now seeps into my dreams,
From bad to good my apples rot one by one.
As I lie paralised and dreaming.
Bitten by the serpent... now forever dreaming...
Into a cage all things shall run, into existence, into consciousness.
Into any gaping hole that shall accept their panicked, shaken bodies.
Huddled together into rotting piles, becoming another organism.
Assimilating through necessity, not desire.
And who shall remain to watch over them?
What remains to be beautiful when hope dies?
Who's mascara runs from the heavens from beautiful glowing eyes?
Surely not yours or mine.
As I lie wounded beneath the tenth banner,
Witnessing the fall of the sign, harking the call, heeding the bell;
Which has lain here for so many a lifetime.
So obvious and unintruded.
A Mask of purity obscured from the eyes of a sick dying world.
The parallel obscure the infinite vultures
Maybe solitude appreciates the chaos of life.
But none shall adore the passing of the watchers.
Such monolith I carve from the mountains
To differentiate to the ignorant of the sublime architecture.
Even as the thorns rip my claws bloodied and torn.
A sign that the sun of the morning has arisen to give you light.
Obstenating ceaseless negalities
In pursuit or hunt not.
I am so old years become lifetimes of dreams.
I remain in tact, despite and towards the fact.
I have become. I have become in fact.
A Solomonic voiding, speaking as I in tongues.
I am have become a priceless artifact.
