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Most People Wouldn't Understand |
A rend in the Stone Dust and rust alike Tumbling, skipping to the grass blades Made subservient to the hurricane blizzard. The Stone pulsates Recoils, Its fear Neatly laced along Its frost-fanged facade– The Face of Hate. Some Thing makes a presence An emergence from the chasm– Eminence dressed in tresses of winged silver. The prancing began And over the Stone the Some Thing sat Throbbing just ever so easily. Not just any eye That stands before a Human Heart Could fathom the majesty of the Thoughts Of such a Some Thing. It caused a ripple in the rip And “Be gone ” spake the Stone To only produce a more intense calm over the Some Thing Despite the pictures which twirled in whirlpools in Its soul: Dreadful scenes Macabre things The Devil would cease to smirk And shudder with disgust and agony: Heads asunder, Loveless Sex, beaten Babies and the loss of God, Severed dreams lying hopeless around the used bed of a child herself, Weeping souls forgotten in a barren realm of Listlessness, Childless Whores, And Eyes blinded by the beams of Propaganda. So the Some Thing swallowed back Lest it vomit Its very reason for Life And opened Its glittering platinum wings In fear, the Stone curled back Its lips Teeth brazen, cracked with the split flesh Of all the blameful fallen Angels of the Earth The Some Thing swept outward– A white steed and the epic star-bedaubed creature, too– And forced Its own meaning through the Stone’s deafened ears. The Stone screamed Kicked and retched Pleaded to be released from such anguish Yet the wings of the moon were vengeful, merciless Illiterate of the pitiful helplessness of the Ignorant And slid Its last double-bladed image through the Stone’s limestone skull. The Stone withered away like moonflowers in the sun Never to wash away the last iridescent needle that sewed through Its head ‘Twas nothing but the still-life scene Of a quiet billowing ivory cloud Gently kissing the elbows of a shadowy, trembling member of its own. |