Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
2003-09-19 04:12:47 (UTC)

in ardor we slept

bored am i, sigh i say
the waking words of silent
thought permeate the air
like a frozen hail smashing
into the souless and breaking
thier minds like kindling
an epiphany erupts from
whence the mudcaked ruin
of the house once stood
the mind bled, the body
rotted and finally the soul
fled the battlefield wielding
it's pain as it's sword in one
hand and it's sick sorrow
like a sythe in the other
wondering, swimming, the
break of water mired the
sun soaked rocks upon
which we'd made our
sacriment of blood to
the dreams, to the others
and we waited
we wept, we bled, we fought
soon we slept a sleep like that
of running falls, glistening cold
waterfalls, and silent cloudy days
the battle neverending, the call
of glory never halting, but faded
like the jerkins we wore, from
hated bullets our enemy
and there she stood, alive
and radiant, singing to us all
waving us to her, and her
warm embrace of her lust
our skeletal bones walked
through the bog, over the dead
under the rivers of blood
when we gathered around her
she touched us, and we wept
and we fell, and we bled
light shed our souls hearts
into oblivion
and so we slept in the arms
of she who was, and will be
ardor