Of Heaven

Back to the places,

Where I used to dream,

Amidst loves mournful lament,

And sharp headed death.

 

Where roses and water,

Born of Heaven,

Made you smile,

As you cried the red and white,

That gushed forth from his robe.

 

Such is the heavy,

Fruit of the moon,

All sliced and slivered,

For the memory of you.

 

When your face appeared,

From my darkest unborn cavern,

With the salted sea of your eyes,

To sacrifice your lantern hopes,

And throw them to the lights,

Of luminous wolves.

 

Whose night,

No soul can capture,

And who's lifetime,

I squandered,

In my dreams as a child.