This is our hopeless heaven. Flowers water
eyes, wine suckles veins, and peace thirsts
for poisonous breath in the blasts of sin.
Mocking laughter pours in every tongue the
devil's hate, "To my grim feast you've gathered,
mad fools not as prey or yourselves betray!"
In the hollow bone, spirit harshly chants beyond
mighty walls black and shuddering, pregnant
with thunder to set afire dust-filled brains.
God's knowing finger points with a huge roaring
as we sleep in the ocean of silent prayer, at
last betrayed by an ever-luring dark fate,
prowling like wolves, long cast aside.
We wear the shapes of crueler beasts with a
conquering grin, reveling from griefs falling on us
all, bleeding skywards under black death's wing.
Copyright © 2007, Alexis Child
*Featured as the leading poem*
Sinister Tales Magazine 2.2-June /07
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