the graveyards of eternity
are but a glimpse at the divine
brightly lit with captive lives now free
and when the earth is filled
with such wounded treasures
the darkness will bathe in art
inexplicably linked with the rapture of mankind

when all the fallen have been harvested
with angst
and the thunder calls boldly in the night
the fate of the world
will bloom into mushroom clouds
of cheer
spreading sunshine like warm butter
between crevices of delight

light in my step
light of the world
blazing trails of hope in my demise
conquer me gently with lies

and when the wicked seek answers
tell them that the grave is near
and life is a vessel
and that we are all wicked
and that the taste of brimstone
brings forth gourmet wonders of bliss
so that my palate is torn asunder
with such pleasures
that even the hollow wind of midnight
beckons me
messengering ephemeral wonders

to which I must testify
with total honesty
and a bit of contempt
that even the rain dies in vain
trying in vain to be more than rain

save a drop for me

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