3-23,25-15
I hate the air
But no one will care
My lungs are trying
While my mind is dying
To scream
To extinguish the flames
And seize the ruffled manes
of a lion hearted
Dearly departed
Dreaming
Scheming
Child.
But she is too far gone,
no Hercules could drag her
from the river of souls
Hot like coals
your fingers will burn
from trying to turn
the gears that stopped
So many years
before we met
Armadas gone and yet
more to come.
What is it you see
On this battlefield
when those ghosts flee
The sword I wield,
a tattered shield,
a soldier?
Don’t patronize me
I’m not your saint
Or anyone else’s.
I’d just like to paint
you a mask
so grotesquely beautiful
that while seeing
this terror
somehow in ‘my error’
you will forget this woe
to features divine
which the pigment
does intertwine
eerily well.