WEIRD IMAGES

I want you now
said the stinky old wind,
the breeze from hell
that knew how I sinned.
I'll take you off
where the roses bloom
to soak into paradise
in your fairest room...
and you'll toss and you'll turn
waiting for the day
but the light, it has faded,
has gone far away.
I'll be your dreamchild
given birth in the night
where dreaming's the order
and darkness the sight.
I'll lift you above
the ogres that crowd
like fistfulls of nightmares
pummelling your shroud...
and your coffin will open
in the old buried tomb
and the maggots will scamper
as if from a womb...
Watch your crumbling bones blow
like dust on the wind
for it has hauntingly spoken,
friend, that's how you sinned...
© Peter Rogerson 23.04.12






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"Gifting Gaea"