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Picture of Sempiternity
My mosaic-patterned eyes can peer through the stained glass pane
Situated in the tunnel of my unconscious self
Where terrifying elation touches me
In the cavity of my chest which the parson dubbed my heart
It is a view for demons or the brokenhearted:
A restless sea of ash
The crest of each wave a foam of transcribed memories
Those little slips of paper and their age-old messages
Burnt to a crisp by the backstage flame
Which makes the engines of time
Churn in smoky repetition
Eternity, though quite a scholar,
Has no sympathy for reminiscence
Choosing instead to make love with quiet passion
To his darkling mistress, Fate
What a bitter betrayal!
While tumbling down the hill of scorching sand
(Where there is no origin to the downward slope)
Toward the inevitable gateway to Hell's monstrous fires
I grope through the smoke for your hand
Because if I am to be damned
I will have company in the form of your sweaty palm
When I embrace the devil, a grin upon his workman's face
Do not dab the tears from our eyes, always staring as if we were but dolls,
Or wipe off the grins of wet paint from our faces
If the deities shall pack us in a black, leather suitcase
And we round the circle till the circle's end
Better to have these iridescent tears sprinkle the fertile ground
Of what once was
That as we spin, something may grow elsewhere
Again
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This article has 11 comments.
My goodness, the Silent Raven does not recall trying to make himself anonymous. Doesn't it know that everyone can see it hiding between the lines?
The last line loves you too, Boosflash.
Remember to cheer up though, as I tried to remind you at the end.