Wednesday, 19 September 2012

THE MARCH OF THE ELECT


A pink veil drifts; the fir trees bow
as pearl globes wink and blue capes trail.
Stars bead sun hair; buds flow from lips
rapt faces spark gems; hands clasp to pray
for cities of ice where acid rots men.
Lead spikes stab faith; hate lobs her boils
rocks groan in pangs; the gifted souls writhe
their mute tears gush and salve earth's woes.

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