Heaven Is Our Apocalypse

Worlds, burned in a heavenly bridge-

The atman draws his violin 

Cinders in messages fall,

Lighting his dove winged pipe-

 

We fold our litany, our mental hives

Our armies of paper doll,

Marching through lost divinity 

Our suicide kings,

 

Our spines aligned in gold,

A fable risen state, we ply into magnitude

Knowing our status immortal 

The risen noble paints 

Polemic in our tears,

Another morphs from the hydrogen,

As I suppose I would appear

My jiggered sins assigned 

 

The third burns into Royal Tea  

Deadly as a smoldering lie 

My own comes in sunrise

The laughter of the dawn 

As if it knows the insanity we must draw

If only to imbibe 

 

The days like a lion impaled ,

Pierced from claw to tongue 

Clamoring for a kinder amnesia,

Merciful,

Bold and

Broken-

We are the kite strings of old nightly bullets

Drowning in our dye

The distant promise of our yellow fields,

Where we all have since fallen

 

There is no need for texture,

No better world, no life beyond this day

Just reddened lines souring in our soured glasses,

And the tree lines we hold in green scripture.

Reviews

[Esther]

Your words bring back a really strong memory of Plath. I've always found going rhythmless impossible, but you seem to be able to put it so beautifully together.

[Perdition]

She was something wasn't she, though I preferred Sexton and Oliver. What a wonderfully kind compliment in a "Bell Jar" such as this one. And poor Mr. Hughes...what a harsh life he was dealt as he truly was a wonderful poet. Thank you once again.

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

So now it's the dance of the violin....gypsy tears....just when I thought I preferred the Spanish guitar. There are no lions in hurricanes...just gators and mad men.lol

[Perdition]

"Now" is the scream of life ..the mortal blade that staggers its pace beneath to stare into the thrill in fading delight. Thanks~