A
constellation of arduous waterfalls; a remedial cadence of his heart.
He craves the night; to waltz amidst shadows in the blood of darkness.
A nocturnal birdsong, the poisonous kiss of tainted rain,
Painting the toxic hues of his breath into smoke,
Until the ash settles upon the tomb of the philosopher; the Unknown Soldier.
Mourn as
his whiskey tears subdue sanities lacing the stars.
Let the tears fall upon broken tides crashing at his deities.
Walk the oceans,
The path of dreams enslaving his tongue,
Find peace within the poetry inscribed on his empty parchment.
No
compass shall guide to an innocent heart, vaccinated from human souls.
Disembodied; if only his heart were carved from stone.
Bleed no more in transient skies,
Where innocence meets the cross,
He walks within his poetry; if only he had a home...