Seldom is my waking thought
Through knife and gold my soul is bought
To heed the weary, rest the shaken
My head is heavy, my eyes, forsaken
In a secular wedding of web and throne
Of riddled faces, of tandem bone
This weary homestead in the mist
The tree, though dead, as alive as the Hist
Anchoring in a pool of souls
Meddled ashes, lies untold
Embrace the keys, forgive the tomb
Find grievance in the wooded womb
The sun is chasing through the treetops
And the nymphs are turning with tumbles and hops
Green and brown pain the serenity
And I wonder; will the soil here remember me
But no, for lo, and high as a tower
It holds the beacon, the lustful power
A woman nor not, a man yet thought
In tidal and stream, ebb and muscle rot
A vulture to infinity, a criminal to the sane
She hast the lips of an angel, yet holds not a name
A crown of shadowed scarabs, a cobra in her eyes
Her left hand holds divinity, her right is my surmise
Perhaps a hallowed hymn to thee
A bristled path, One-In-Three
What is ours is gone, our memories going dry
Though of what can we say she is, her names held high:
A meddler
So tender
Never hiding
Always fighting
Killing vowels with her tongue
Even though no words are sung
Inept in her sullen gloom
Notorious like an Antler's bloom
Toasts to her chime the night sky
Horrid visions, the SHARMAT will not die
Embrace the keys
So as to forgive the tomb as it seethes
Inert is her loving grasp, as it only could be
Golden and musky is her breath, the only thing free
No err can she bare on her shoulders
Shrieking sirens above us as the earth smolders
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