Thursday, December 25, 2008

Rose Oceans or That Time I Read About The Dark Tower

From the pen of a dying man

into a thousand dying hearts

through a thousand dying eyes,

he wrote and spoke of no more black madness,

 

And from the finger tips of an orphan child

into the belly of a pig

through hunger and innocence,

he feasted far from plastic box dinners,

 

From mother earth's own tears

into the blood of my brothers and sisters

through the last clean crimson vein,

we all bathed in the forgiving end,

 

And from the key's cut teeth

into the deadbolt mind

through nightmare awakenings,

we turned into a great many things,

 

And from ageless rose oceans

into towers of glass and bone

through the starless paths

I came to be,

 

Embraced in moments such as these.

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