Tragedy, Blood-wpt patters of Eden within my dreams. Mors iauna vitae!
Requiem-aeternam dona eis, Domine. Whispering chois within the dark.
I lay as dead, my graven dreams as memories, of the enchanted garden
As the dark is creeping through my coffin sleep, with a sour perfume
the putrid stench of withering flesh-wheeping
Once bewildering bright, in Elysian bloom, the garden stood vast, as an Arcadian dream
but chaos arose with malicious intent, to smother the orchads with grim eerie veils
Petrified angels, dead featherless black, fell as overriped fruits from their haven
to drown as sinners, in sulphur steam drenched
in the damp bloodless vein of Phlegethon-Bath!
Sculptured to be...
Marble angels of melancholy, statues of stone by my grave, as sentinels sobbing
with wings draped in frost, for heavenly life they crave.
The midwinter storms to scatter the leaves, thin and brittle as ice
as stars upon my grave, diaphanous pale, a bouquet of frostbitten flowers
Transparent, melting as the anthems of death, the poems I've written are fading
Like my funeral wreath, the weave of dreams, forgotten and frozen to ice
Pelaline jewelry, as stars in the snow, to embelish the wintery embrace
embedded in darkness, tenebrous haze. I sleep beneath their glimmering gaze
Over my grave as a spring serenade, flowers fortorn within darkness
The garden of galaxies frozen to frost. The orchards of Eden by roses and thorns
overgrown, as the memories-of a landscape forgotten to sprout.
Withering beaty to vanish in patterns of withering dust-in oblivion lost
Warm I lay in the sheets of the earth, in the dust of the withering garden.
Behind the shieod of snowfall I hide-delifed-as God of the grievous Eden
