35 (falling)



Warm from the cradle of God's presence,

rushing in the breath of upper atmosphere,

first air, and inhalation, and welcome

to the Terra, where God only glances,

and remembers our names with detachment,

meeting our prayers with shattering glass,

in shards of sorrow and fleet fulfillment.


The sun is branded with our mortal cast, / flesh derided, bereft of time's expanses, / made gentle to the lie and rolling drum, / and the trespass of the righteous in fear, / our brethren, banished to forbidden senses, / to the crime, delight, of the Godless trenches.

 


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Subscribe