And when the Ghouls
Drag their souls to hell
Where Devil dwells
Where skin is scorched
And the smell
Of the Divine is foul
And heads are hung
On spikes of swine
Where Demons dine
Their crooked tongues
Carress the wine
Off shattered lungs
And to be here, not there
Where is a worse off fate?
Where thorns of hate
Protrude from hearts
Carved out from slate
For Him, and His black mare
And bronzed, wired fences
With jagged racks
There, bones will crack
Broken violins
Gas covering its tracks
Out of chambers commences
And foe that day
With shoulders tense
Has gassed them, hence
When millions barred
In silent trance
But the world turned away
And we can smell His breed
On yet another sun
All over it has begun
Where He was born
Into another one
And shared with them His creed
And to be here, not there
Where is a worse off fate?
Where thorns of hate
Protrude from hearts
Carved out from slate
For Him, and His black mare
About the Creator
Maria Parsheva
She had eyes like ocean water, deep sea glass with rugged edges
She had lips as hard as pearls and coral moonlight in her hair
Hi, I'm Maria and I've been writing poetry, stories and books since I was very young. To me writing is breathing.
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"Death cannot stop true love, only delay it." – Wesley in The Princess Bride. I decided to come back to Vocal on a very cold and dark night at the end of December. I had been, and still am, convalescing from a horrible staph infection that had gone misdiagnosed for months. This, paired with the increasing challenges of being healthy, making the best choices for my co-parented child, being a wife, and being a director at a new job, was a lot to manage.
By Jazzy 3 days ago in Confessions
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