Lips And Wordless Miracle

What if the sword 
leaves and purple eyes 
of Iris become apocalyptic? 

It would be for me― the arrow, 
leaving from the arched 
bows of goddess of rainbow. 

Wearing a tiara, of 
golden lotuses, in eerie morning 
the sun was rising. 

Dawn commits a 
genuine sin. Wakes me up 
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth. 

The silent ocean has 
a job to do. Turn me blue in 
iced mercy without any smile. 

Baked and browned, the 
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.