Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Sons of god.

Dire, circumstantial. 
The ever present reminder of a life aloof.
Signs of danger never clearer. 
Smoke filled rooms now dissipated. 
The empty night remains.  
Tonight is tomorrow once again. 
And once again
 (like ever before) I am alone. 

The foggy morning rises above the holy city lights.
Halos of saintly desires parade atop the   scalps of sullied friars 
As if the night never occurred. 

Dire, inexplicable. 
The wrath of a starry night. 
The minuscule affairs of wretched beings.
The room is now clear as day. 
The steam has dispersed. 

I can breathe again.  

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