I tell him I will give him a lock of my hair to tie his noose. Steal his rainbows And smear his blood upon my cheeks. I tell him these things because The words I love you Too often get stuck in my throat. By Laura Pye Reveries Pt. Words of affliction lacerate deprivation.
Seraph is severed from frailty.
For the key to his resplendent citadel 'Twas bestowed upon an idler. Ardour eternal, Despite this forlorn epoch. Tis a pallid cell 'Neath vine sown spires. Stygian fields, panoramic woe, Beyond putrefying russet receptacles. This ravaged soul, a desolate waste.