Flower of Black Heart

Ancient spirit, how many stories are there to your name?

Flower of Black Heart

Hail, black-hearted flower,
which grows so cold,
petals grey, that reek of old.
Old ages, that you have seen,
old places, where you have been.
Tell me of it all...

That kinless, age-struck tower
with heaving tattered cloth;
the grave of fabled Aarakhan
where dead dreams step to rot.

The streams of moonlight bountiful
in drowned Ravallia
where rain the orbs of muses
of life anemia.

The heaps of marble sand
and cackling burnt matches
deep and deep in which
sunk gaze sleeping watches.

Those bourgeois birds
with bellies lump like bread
awaiting in damp chambers
their glutton's glutton fed.

Belts spanning a windless sky
all shining to proudly lead
armies of shamed sleepwalkers
to hold and sing of misforn creed.

Wonders have you seen
olden flower, save your grin
miniscule your past is still
to that, which our fate distill,
to laugh and mock your weary kin!
What's a past, if past is sin?