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Poetry

Various Poems Dune Inspired Kitsune Religious

 

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?*

My hours grow short
My life is water pouring out over the ground
From a broken vessel
Dying in deep darkness
In bitter loneliness
What was the use of being wise?
What was the use of life?
Weary from living
Tears of blood upon the ground
Who weeps?
Moonlit blood
A black pool in the dirt
Where are the angelsí wings?
The twenty legions promised me?
Where are the mourners now?
I lost them in blindness
Who is that crying?
Echoing darkness
In which everything is meaningless
Meaningless
I close my eyes
Were they open before?
Final breath as bitter as dandelion heads
Where is the sweetness of heavenly airs?

*ďMy God, My God, why have You forsaken me?Ē Matt 27:46

 

 

Untitled

When angels fall
There is a death of starlight.

It was then that the veil was raised
At the lie of the accuserís lips
Mankind bent their brow to the serpentís kiss.

The sackcloth veil was ever raised Ďgainst mortal eyes
Until the day it was cleaved
By a death cry, the bereavement of the soul
A solar eclipse when the moon was full

 

 

Azazelís lament

My shoulders hurt where my wings should be, the presence of imaginary feathers.
Not the pain of ripping them away, just the dull ache of deep, mortal fatigue.
I try just one more powerful beat, yet pain is all that answers my will
Ghosts of appendages that are not there. I canít stretch them out
like a muscle that cannot relax. My wings are gone.
I feel as if Iíve been bound, my arms tied behind me
on the ground for thousands of years
before my wings were removed.
When did my grandeur dissolve?
Why were my wings detached?
What is this earthly, fleshy realm?
My joints are made of water
my bones of molten lead.
My consciousness a
vapor that left me
millennia
ago.

 

 

Mary
Sweetest girl
They belied you
Crucified your love
Burned you at the stake
Yet for one thousand years
You have been the most sought
More wish to kneel at your grave
Than bend a forehead to a loverís kiss

Yes, it's Mary Magdalene. We had to write a poem based on a book we were reading. Not really a fan of The Da Vinci Code, but whatever. Yes, the pyramid shape is on purpose.

 

 

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