The wind yells
In the tongue of the devil
Holding the spirit of the ghost
And you try to listen
A corpse without a torso
It’s the Holy Mary
Crying for her child
The beauty of being alone
Yet drenched in the spirit of the wind
It dances
Slowly and sinuously
Movements of a drunken artist
A filbert sunken in red red paint
The bloody lips of a girl
The sexed crimson hair of a whore
The laughter of the idiot
Too smart to cry
Too healthy to lie
Taken to a place without hold
Transverse with dead flat tears
Slowly it moves closer
Closer to the beating heard
It nears all your fears
Thumping the same as your heart
Copyright 2005 diavolessa
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/677/56079 on Saturday November 22nd, 2008 05:34 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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