Sign0ff

recycle&signoff

waking of an Angel

I am the eyes of the Basilisk.
As you enter the forest of my sleep,
Drawing aside the bushes of glimmering light,
You will remember the prayer of Orion.
Drifted in me, you are alone.
The hour approaches and the Moon, dim as clay,
Pours a sea of tears into our swollen eyes.
Kill the dying in my soul, my love,
For Death once dead bears no more dying then,
And you’ll be dead to strike the dead.
I have written your name so often
On the chiselled vault.
But my writing hands are the roots of my misery.
Now everything stands still
In the wake of the Angel…

 

No comments yet»

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: