The windmills of ration are stiffened
still
Surrendered at the
feet of Her Grace The Muse
Shades of twisted
smiles scorch deep into abyssal hearts
Drowning runes,
glyphs and words in shackles of alluring thrill
The soul is desperate
for tainted oblivion and redemption
Born at the absolute
power of her liquefied kiss
End the angel,
shrouded in her rapturous arms,
Under the ultimate
eclipse of her blazing eyes’ heels
The decayed body resurrects
in pagan baptism
The precipice of thoughts
is forgotten and forbidden
Another is the street
to be vagrantly walked upon
Immortalized in the
hectic chimeras of communication
The Muse’s foretold
pearl is encrypted by the quill
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