Hell's Open Arms Embrace Heaven's Harmony

Just a poem on the slow decline of natural beauty and happiness. The loss of everything that made us human.

Eden is a construct of astral planeswalkers’ undocumented by the eyes of man

Baptized by the arms of hell that wrap the hermaphrodite acolytes embracing alabaster castaways, drowning islands in the sin

The mist muses the global warming terraforming

God averts his eyes as we all glide hibernating

The archipelago envelopes calcified sunrises myriads’ psychics of cardiovascular magnanimity

The people wallow in the shallow glade of shadowland’s cadaver satin to the touch of Saturn’s wingspan megalomaniac

The world spins like a dervish, spirals in revival

Idolizing cytoplasm in the veins of cataclysm

Nirvana’s antimatter reanimated by the stationery emissaries

I would rather drown in sorrow, then bath in sin

I would rather damn tomorrow, then live today again

You cannot begin to understand

Eden is not for any of man

Spectres sceptre sepulchre midnight indefinite inseparable from requiem

The world is setting like a sun without a mother

A fire in the heart, is not a star, not a brother

You cannot begin to understand

Eden spurns to roping sands

To hold the dangling hand of man

You could not understand

Opal cornucopia’s grand

One foot in the graveyard of dunes marooned in ruins

Amputated amphitheatres teeter unsheathed by heathen’s deviant

You could not possibly understand

The inner workings of your parts your clockwork band

You are not but man who cannot see beneath, the smiling teeth, the beaten heart incarcerates the meat

And if you were to wish to know

Why we’ve all been sent below

Interwoven dystopia comatose

Eden breathes in the musty cloud, the silver shroud, the scream out loud

The guillotine's virility, the syllabus of acrylic millipede sundering homunculus

And the cold of snow to bury hope

Disparities cherished carotin

And when you here my answer clear

The remains of ventriloquists that string the dwindling kindling of the man fire envisioning crimson chains of hurricane

From beneath the prophet's tears, the mirrors veneer, the philosopher, the Apocrypha  

I still will call you nought but man

And God will never understand

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.